LYRICS  HND  IDYLS 


BY 


(DADISON 


*OHN    P.  MOKTON    &  COMPANY. 

1890 


COPYRIGHTED  BY  M.  J.  CAWEIN. 


(Lsis 
~  Mfc 


TO 


James  fcane 

AND 

g_nfieiit  Bniins 

WITH  REGARD  AND  APPRECIATION  FOR  THE  HIGH  STAND 

ARD  OF  BEAUTY  THE  EXCELLENCY  OF  THEIR 

WORK,  PROSE  AND  POETICAL,  HAS 

.GIVEN  TO  SOUTHERN 

LITERATURE. 


M807895 


CONTENTS. 


WITH   H^^P^   flfiD   PYPE. 

IDEAL  DIVINATION, 9 

THE  BEAUTIFUL,        .* 13 

OVERSEAS, 16 

PORPHYROGENITA, 19 

ORIENTAL  ROMANCE, 22 

LOVE  I  HAD  BANISHED 24 

HE  TELLS, 26 

SHE  SPEAKS, 29 

UNCERTAINTY, 31 

FALL, 34 

BENEATH  THE  BEECHES, 36 

ANDALIA, 38 

NOERA, 41 

JULIA, 44 

LORA, 46 

BLANCH, 48 

PHYLLIS, 49 

VALKYRIEN, 52 

MOTHS, 54 

As  IT  Is,     56 

THOUGHTS, 57 

AFTER  THE  TOURNAMENT,     59 

AMONG  THE  ACRES  OF  THE  WOOD, 61 

LOVE  A-MILKING 63 


CONTENTS. 


ROMANTIC  LOVE,    ......................    65 

PASTORAL  LOVE,     .......................   08 

IMMORTAL,  ...........................    70 

SLEEP,  ............................   72 

GHOSTLY  WEATHER,  ......................    75 

THE  BRIDLE-PATH,     ......................    76 

NOONING,  ..........................   81 

THE  LOG-BRIDGE,   ......................   83 

THE  OLD  FARM,  ...............   .........   86 

AMONG  THE  KNOBS,  .............  '  .........   90 

GARGAPHIE,  ..........................   94 

ROSICRUCIAN,   ........................   97 

His  SONG,  ..........................  100 

APOCALYPSE,    ........................  102 

ILLUSION,    ...........................  103 

DUTY  AND  LOVE,  .......................  104 


BLODEUWEDD,  .........................  107 

THE  LADY  OF  VERNE,     .........      .........  113 

THE  SUCCUBA,  .........................  119 

His  FIRST  MISTRESS,     ....................     128 

BEFORE  THE  BALL  ......      ................  131 

MASKS,    ...........................  134 

HAUNTED  ...........................     138 

UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE,  ................  144 

REVISITED,  ........................  148 

LOST  LOVE,    ..........................  151 

LYANNA,    .  .      ........................  153 

GLORAMONE,  ........................  160 

THE  CAVERNS  OF  KAF,  ...................  108 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  VAN,  ...................  176 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR,  ..................  182 

AT  NINEVEH  ..........................  189 

ROAIAUNT  OF  THE  OAK,     ..................  192 


U/itl? 


apd  Pype. 


IDEAL  DIVINATION. 

WOW  I  have  thought  of  her, 
Her  I  have  never  seen ! — 
Now  from  a  raying  air 
She,  like  a  romance  queen, 
Flowers  a  face  serene, 
Badiant  in  raven  hair. 

Now  in  a  balsam  scent 
Laughs  from  the  stars  that  gleam; 
Naked  and  redolent, 
Bends  to  me  breasts  of  beam, 
Eyes  that  will  make  me  dream, 
Throat  that  the  dimples  dent. 
9)  2 


10  IDEAL  DIVINATION. 


Love  is  all  vain  to  me 
So:  and  as  dust  severe, 
Faith:  and  a  barren  tree, 
Truth :  and  a  bitter  tear, 
Joy:  for  I  wait  and  hear 
Her  who  can  never  be. 

Living  we  learn  to  know 
Life  is  not  worth  its  pain ; 
Living  we  find  a  woe 
Under  each  joy  we  gain ; 
Fardled  of  hope  we  strain 
Whither  no  hope  may  know. 

Life  is  too  credulous 
Of  Time  who  beckons  on. 
Memory  still  serves  us  thus — 
Gauging  the  coming  dawn 
By  a  day  dead  and  gone, 
Day  that's  a  part  of  us. 

Soul — of  life's  sins  so  mocked, 
Clayed  in  the  flesh  and  held, 
Ever  rebellion  rocked, 


IDEAL  DIVINATION.  11 


Battling,  forever  quelled, 
Yearning  on  heaven  spelled 
Over  of  stars — lies  locked 

Supine  where  torrents  pour 
Hell  ward;  on  crags  that  high, 
Scarred  of  the  thunder,  gore 
Heaven:  the  vulture's  eye 
Swims,  and  the  harpies'  cry 
Clangs  through  the  ocean's  roar. 

Notes  of  seolian  light 
Calling  it  hears  her  lips : 
Scorched  by  her  burning  white 
Arms  and  her  armored  hips, 
Slimy  each  monster  slips 
Back  to  its  native  night. 

Rules  she  some  brighter  star? 
Inviolable  queen 
Of  what  the  destinies  are? 
She  with  her  light  unseen 
Leading  my  life;  a  sheen 
Loftier  than  beauty  far. 


IDEAL  DIVINATION. 


Oh  !  in  my  dreams  she  lies 
With  me  and  fondles  me: 
Amaranths  are  her  eyes; 
And  her  hair,  shadowy 
Curlings  of  scent;  and  she 
Breathes  at  my  heart  and  sighs 

If  with  its  slaves  I  bear 
All  of  life's  tyranny, — 
Worm  for  the  worm, — I  care 
Naught  if  my  spirit  be 
Hers  in  eternity — 
Hers  who  did  make  it  dare. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

§F  moires  of  placid  glitter 
The  moon  is  knitter, 

Under  low  jade-dark  branches 

The  blue  night  blanches ; 

Upon  yon  torrent's  arrow 

Gleams  sink,  as  narrow 
As  each  blown  tress  of  some  soft  sorceress 
Spell-haunted  slumbering  in  a  wilderness. 

O  soul,  who  dreamest,  ponder : — 

Thy  witch,  thy  love,  what  wonder 
Of  charms  conceals  her  from  thee  powerless ! 

On  balmy  lakes  of  glimmer 

Cool  sheets  of  shimmer 

Burn  glassy,  as  if  inner 

Sea-castles, — th  in  ner 

Than  peeled  pearl-crystal  curlings, — 

(13) 


14  THE  BE  A  UTIFUL. 


Through  eddy  whirlings 
Sprayed  glow  of  lucid  battlement  and  spire, 
The  smoldering  silver  of  their  smothered  fire. 
And  hers,  thy  love's  enchanted, 
Where  are  her  towers  planted! — 
Heart!  that  thou  could'st  besiege  them  with  thy  lyre ! 

By  sands  of  ruffled  beaches? 

On  terraced  reaches 

Of  rolling  roses,  blowing 

Mouths  red  as  glowing 

Cheeks  of  the  folk  of  Fairy, 

A  palace  airy  ? 

With  pointed  casements,  thrusts  of  piercing  light, 
Piled  full  of  melody  and  marble-white  ? 

Where  beauty,  veiled  and  hidden, 

Smiles?  who  my  life  hath  bidden 
Come?  by  her  wisdom  accoladed  knight? 

The  blue  night's  sweetness  settles — 
Like  hyacinth  petals 
Bowed  by  a  weight  of  teary 
Dew — day  ward.    Weary 


THE  BEAUTIFUL.  15 


One  mocking-bird,  moon-saddened, 

Sobs  on  ;  and  gladdened, 
My  soul,  dissolving,  largens  to  the  lie 
Named  Death  by  fearful  lips.     Love,  tell  me  why 

I  may  not  have  thee  tender? 

Mix  with  thee  ?  feel  thy  splendor 
Expand  me  like  a  bud  beneath  God's  eye  ? 


OVERSEAS. 


fall  winds  morns  with  mist,  it  seems, 
^     In  soul  I  am  a  part  of  it  ; 
Librating  on  the  humid  beams, 
A  form  of  frost,  I  float  and  flit 

From  dreams  to  dreams.  .  .  . 

An  old  chateau  sleeps  'mid  the  hills 

Of  France  ;  an  avenue  of  sorbs 
Conceals  it;  drifts  of  daffodils 

Bloom  by  a  scutcheoned  gate  with  barbs 
Like  iron  bills.  « 

I  pass  the  gate  unquestioned,  yet 

I  feel  announced.     Broad  holm-oaks  make 
Dark  pools  of  restless  violet. 

Between  thick  bramble  banks  a  lake  — 

As  in  a  net 
(16) 


OVERSEAS.  17 


The  tangled  scales  twist— silvers  glad. 

Gray,  mossy  turrets  swell  above 
The  feathering  foliage.     Leafy  clad 

Rise  ivied  walls.     A  spot  for  love, 
The  garden  sad. 

Lean,  angular  windows,  awkward  seen 

From  distant  lanes  with  hawthorn  hedged, 

Beam  broadly  on  the  nectarine 

Espaliered  and  the  peach-tree,  wedged 
Twixt  drifts  of  green. 

% 

Cool-babbling  a  fountain  falls 

From  gryphons'  mouths -in  porphyry; 

Clear-eddying  swim  its  carp  ;  white  balls 
Of  lilies  dip  it  when  the  bee 

Hugged-  in  them  drawls. 

Large  butterflies,  each  with  a  face 
Of  Faery  on  its  wings,  recline — 

Beheaded  pansies  blown  that  chase 
Each  other — down  the  shade  and  shine 
Boughs  interlace. 


18  OVERSEAS. 


And  roses !  roses  soft  as  vair, 
Glorying  o'er  statues  and  the  old 

Brass  dial ;  Pompadours  that  wear 
Their  royalty  of  purple  and  gold 
With  saucy  air. 

Her  scarf,  her  lute,  whose  ribbons  breathe 
The  perfume  of  her  touch ;  her  gloves, 

Modeling  the  daintiness  they  sheathe  ; 
Her  fan,  a  Watteau,  gay  with  loves, 
Lie  there  beneath 

A  bank  of  eglantines  that  heaps 
A  sunny  blondness.    Naive-eyed, 

With  lips  as  suave  as  they,  she  sleeps. 
The  romance  by  her  open  wide 
O'er  which  she  weeps. 


PORPHYROGENITA. 


'AS  it  when  Kriemhild  was  queen 

Leoella? — have  forgotten: — 
Eode  we  through  the  Rhineland  seen 

Of  a  low  moon  white  as  cotton? 
I,  a  knight  or  troubadour? 
Thou,  a  princess  tho'  a  poor 

Damsel  of  the  Eoyal  Closes? 
I  have  dreamed  it  somewhere  sure 
Reading  of  Kriemhilda's  roses. 

II 

Or  from  Venice  with  thee  fled 
To  the  Levant,  Graciosa? 

Thou,  some  doge's  daughter  dead- 
Titian  painted  thee  or  Rosa?— 

(19) 


20  PORPHYROGENITA. 


I,  that  gondolier  whose  barque 
Glided  by  thy  palace  dark- 
Near  San  Marco?     Casa  d'Oro?— 
All  thy  casement  sprang  a-spark 
At  my  barcarolle's  "Te  oro." 

in 
Klaia,  one  of  Egypt,  yea, 

Languid  as  its  sacred  lily, 
Didst  with  me  a  year  and  day 

Love  upon  the  Isle  of  Philce  ? 
I— a  priest  of  Isis  ?     Sweet, 
'Neath  the  date-palms  did  we  meet 

By  a  temple's  pillared  marble  ? 
While  from  its  star-still  retreat 

Sunk  the  nightingale's  wild  warble? 

IV 
Have  I  dreamed  it?— I,  a  slave; 

From  thy  lattice,  O  Sultana! 
Veilless,  thy  slight  hand  did  wave 

Me  a  Persian  rose,  sweet  manna 
Of  thy  lips'  kiss  in  its  heart? 


PORPHYROGENITA.  21 

And  through  my  Chaldaean  art, 
With  thy  Khalif  s  bags  of  treasure, 

From  Damascus  did  we  start 

Westward  to  some  land  of  pleasure? 


it  thou  or  haply  thou? — 
Thou  or  thou,  thou  wast  so  dearest 

That  thy  memory  holds  me  now 
Like  a  passion;  lying  nearest 

To  dead  evolutions  of 

Death  to  life  and  life  to  love: 
Truth  invisible  but  clearest 

To  the  soul  that  looks  above. 


ORIENTAL  ROMANCE. 

BEYOND  lost  seas  of  summer  she 
Dwelt  on  an  island  of  the  sea, 
Last  scion  of  that  dynasty, 
Queen  of  a  race  forgotten  long. — 
With  lips  of  light  and  eyes  of  song, 
From  seaward  groves  of  blowing  lemon, 
She  called  me  in  her  native  tongue, 
Low-leaned  on  some  rich  robe  of  Yemen. 

I  was  a  king.    Three  moons  we  drove 
Across  green  gulfs,  the  crimson  clove 
And  cassia  spiced,  to  meet  her  love. 
Stuffed  was  my  barque  with  gums  and  gold, 
Strips  of  rare  sandalwood  grown  old 
With  odor;  and  pink  pearls  of  Oman, 
Large  as  her  nipples  virgin-cold, 
And  myrrh  less  fragrant  than  this  woman. 
(22) 


ORIENTAL  ROMANCE.  23 


From  Bassora  I  came.     We  saw 

Her  condor  castle,  on  a  claw 

Of  savage  precipice,  o'erawe 

Besieging  of  the  roaring  spray ; 

Like  some  white  opal  rough  it  lay 

Above  us,  all  its  towers  a-taper, 

Wherefrom,  like  an  aroma,  day 

Struck  splintered  lights  of  sapphirine  vapor. 

Lamenting  caverns  dark,  that  keep 

Sonorous  beatings  of  the  deep, 

Moaned  demon-haunted  'neath  the  steep. 

Fair  as  the  moon  whose  beams  are  shed 

In  Ramadan,  the  queen,  who  led 

My  soul  unto  her  island  bowers, 

I  found— yea,  lying  young  and  dead 

Among  her  maidens  and  her  flowers. 


LOVE  I  HAD  BANISHED. 

OVE  I  had  banished  away  for  a  day, 

Banished  a  thorn  to  the  thorns  of  Scorn, 
Passing,  behold  how  he  lay  like  a  ray, 
Lay  like  the  creamiest  cluster  of  may, 
Clad  on  with  myrrh  and  with  morn ! 

Stricken  of  bitterness  fleet  were  my  feet, 

Fleet  to  the  side  which  rny  heart  had  denied; 
Fain  for  his  laughter,  a  seat  at  his  sweet 
Side,  and  hard  kisses  to  heal  him  and  heat 
The  ice  of  his  wounded  pride. 

Holding  him  there,  with  the  night  lying  light 

As  plumes  that  are  stirred  of  a  sleeping  bird ; 
Crushing  him  close  to  me,  slight  beat  the  white 
Rose  of  his  members,  like  rain  that  is  bright 
'Neath  the  sun  riding  kingly  and  spurred. 
(24) 


L 0  VE  I  HA  D  EA NIS HED.  25 

Kissing  him  there  in  the  glow  and  the'blow, 

Glow  of  the  blue  and  blow  of  the  dew, 
Leaned  to  him,  happy  au.d  slow  as  the  flow 
Of  stars  that  thirst  trembling  through  darkness, 
Blush  was  his  cheeks'  hale  hue.          [leaned  low, 

Blossoming  limbs  that  breathed  rare,  arid  as  bare 
As  beauty  who  dreams  in  the  gray  moonbeams; 
Glamorous  gold  fell  his  hair  that  was  fair 
Lit  of  his  eyes,  starring  lustrous  the  lair 
Of  curls  that  were  shadowy  gleams. 

Love,  I  had  taken  for  mate,  as  the  late 

Hours  crept  slow  through  the  shy  night's  glow, 
Stole  from  me  leaving  a  weight  as  of  fate, 
Fate  and  all  scorn,  and  the  harshness  of  hate, 
Hard  on  my  slumbering  woe. 

Love,  I  had  held  to  my  breast  and  caressed, 

Hiding  him  deep  in  the  eyes  of  sleep, 
Waking  had  flown  from  the  nest  he  had  pressed, 
Pressed  with  his  fondling  limbs,  and  the  rest— 
Remembrance  that  only  can  weep. 


HE  TELLS. 

'       i 
OU  ask  how  I  knew  that  I  knew  it?— 

Like  the  king  in  an  Asian  tale, 
I  wandered  on  deserts  that  panted 
With  noon  to  a  castle  enchanted, 
That  Afrits  had  reared  in  a  vale ; 
A  vale  where  the  sunlight  lay  pale 
As  moonlight.     And  round  it  and  through  it 
I  searched  and  I  searched.     Like  the  tale 

II 

No  eunuch  black-browed  as  a  Marid 
Prevented  me.     Silences  seemed — 

Nude  slaves  with  the  kohl  and  the  hcnne 

In  eyes  and  on  fingers — so  many 

White  whispers  in  dimness  that  dreamed 
(26) 


HE  TELLS.  27 


Where  censers  of  ambergris  steamed : 
And  I  came  on  a  colonnade  quarried 
From  silvery  marble,  it  seemed. 

in 

And  here  a  wide  court  rose  estraded  : 
Fierce  tulips,  like  carbuncles,  bloomed 

Mid  jonquil  and  jessamine  glories; 

Strange  birds  like  the  cockatoos,  lories, 
Spread  wings,  like  great  blossoms,  illumed, 
Or  splashed  in  the  fountain  perfumed ; 

Kept  captive  by  network  of  braided 
Spun  gold  where  low  galleries  gloomed. 

IV 

From  nipples  of  five  bending  Peries 

Of  gold  that  was  auburn,  in  rays 
The  odorous  fountain  sprang  calling : 
I  heard  through  the  white  water's  falling — 

More  sweet  than  the  laughter  of  sprays, 

Than  songs  of  our  happiest  days — 
A  music  sighed  soft,  as  if  fairies 

Touched  wind-harps  whose  chords  were  of  rays. 


28  HE  TELLS. 


I  searched  through  long  corridors  paneled 

With  sandal,  whose  doorways  hung  draped 
With  stuffs  of  the  Chosroes,  garded 
With  Indian  gold.     Up  the  corded 

Stone  stairway's  bronze  dragons  that  gaped"; 

Through  moon-spangled  hangings  escaped — 
Twixt  pillars  of  juniper  channeled — 

To  a  room  constellated  and  draped. 

VI 

As  in  legends — of  visions  a  vassal 

One  hears,  yet  beholds  naught,  and  hears 

A  voice  that  encourages  yearnings;  — 

More  subtle  than  aloes- wood  burnings, 
The  chamber  sings  filled  for  the  ears 
With  melody;  nothing  appears  : — 

My  life  found  your  soul  such  a  castle, 
Your  love  is  the  music  it  hears, 


SHE  SPEAKS. 

AST  night  you  told  me  where  we,  parting,  waited, 
Of  love  somehow  I'd  known  before  you  told — 
Long,  long  ago  this  love,  perhaps,  was  fated, 
For  why  was  it  made  suddenly  so  old? 

"  Dear  things  we  have  and  in  their  own  truth  cherish, 
Born  with  UP  seem,  and  as  ourselves  shall  last? 

Part  of  our  lives  we  can  not  let  them  perish 
Out  of  our  present's  future  or  its  past?" 

Then  is  it  strange,  dazed  by  that  wider  wonder, 
I,  walking  in  the  woods  the  morrow's  dawn, 

Should  marvel  not  that  by  my  feet  and  under, 
The  wildflowers  now  were  purer  than  those  gone  ? 

(29) 


30  SHE  SPEAKS. 


The  woodbird's  silver  warble  sunk  completer  ? 

The  sun  whirled  whiter,  lordlier  o'er  the  noon? 
That  night,  sweet  God!  hung  starrier,  holier,  sweeter, 

In  Babylonian  witchcraft  of  the  moon  ? 

All  love  hath  emanations:  an  ideal 

Beats,  beats  within  all  beauty.     I  was  moved 

No  more  when,  dreamed,  my  spiritual  dream  rose  real, 
Than  by  what  virtue,  God  divined,  I  loved. 


UNCERTAINTY. 

?  will  not  be  to-day  and  yet 

I  think  and  dream  it  will;  and  let 

The  slow  uncertainty  devise 

So  many  sweet  excuses  met 

With  many  dull  confuting  lies. 

The  panes  were  sweated  with  the  dawn : 
Through  their  drilled  dimness,  shriveled  drawn, 
The  aigret  of  one  princess-feather, 
One  monk's-hood  tuft  with  oilets  wan, 
I  glimpsed,  dead  in  the  slaying  weather. 

This  morning  when  my  window's  chintz 
I  drew— how  gray  the  day  was !— since 
I  saw  him,  yea,  all  days  are  gray!— 
I  gazed  out  on  my  dripping  quince 
Defruited,  torn,  then  turned  away 

(31) 


32  UNCERTAINTY. 


To  weep  and  did  not  weep,  but  felt 
A  colder  anguish  than  did  melt 
About  the  tearful-visaged  year. 
Then  flung  the  casement  wide  and  smelt 
The  Autumn  sorrow:   Eotting  near 

The  rain-soaked  sunflowers,  wooden  bleached, 
Up  whose  poor  bodies  ashen  reached 
Nipped  morning-glories,  seeded  o'er 
With  dangling  aiglets,  whence  beseeched 
One  blue  bloom's  brilliant  palampore. 

The  podded  hollyhocks,  vague,  tall, 
Wind-battered  sentries,  by  the  wall 
Rustled  their  tatters;  dripped  and  dripped 
The  fog^ thick  on  them.     Dying  all 
The  tarnished,  drooping  zinneas  tipped. 

I  felt  the  death  and  loved  it;  yea, 
To  have  it  nearer,  sought  the  gray, 
Chill,  fading  close.     Yet  could  not  weep; 
But  only  sigh  some  "  well-a-way," 
And  yearn  with  heaviness  to  sleep. 


UNCERTAINTY.  33 


Mine  were  the  fog,  the  frosty  stalks, 
The  weak  lights  on  the  leafy  walks, 
The  shadows  shivering  with  the  cold ; 
The  torpid  cricket's  dreary  talks, 
The  last,  dim,  ruined  marigold. 

But  when  to-night  the  moon  swings  low- 
A  great  marsh-marigold  of  glow — 
And  all  my  garden  with  the  sea 
Moans,  then  the  palmer  mist,  I  trow, 
A  shadow '11  bring  to  comfort  me. 


FALL. 

IJpAR  off  a  wind  sprung,  and  I  heard 
1®  Wide  oceans  of  the  woods  reply — 
The  herald  of  some  royal  word 

From  bannered  trumpet  blown  to  die 
On  hills  that  held  the  sky. 

The  pomp  of  forests  seemed  to  meet 
Bluff  monarchs  on  a  cloth  of  gold, 

Where  berries  of  the  bitter-sweet, 

Which,  splitting,  show  the  coals  they  hold, 
Sowed  gems  of  topaz  old. 

Where,  under  tents  of  maples,  bredes 

Of  smooth  carnelians  oval,  red 
The  spice-bush  spangled;  where,  like  beads, 

The  dog-wood's  rounded  rubies  -fed 

With  color — blushed  and  bled. 
(34) 


FALL.  35 

So  with  my  dream  my  soul  went  out, 
And  marked,  mid  richness  cavalier, 

A  minne-singer — lips  a-pout; 

A  voice  of  sleep  and  sunlight  clear ; 
A  rose  stuck  in  his  ear : 

Eyes  dancing,  like  old  German  wine, 

All  mirth  and  moonlight ;  naught  to  spare 

Of  slender  beard,  that  curls  a  line 
Above  his  lip — bow  humbly  there 
A  hazel  heap  of  hair. 

His  blue  baretta's  sweeping  plume 

A  gleam  of  whiteness  droops;  his  hose, 

Puffed  at  the  thighs,  of  purple  loom; 
His  tawny  doublet,  slashed  with  rose, 
A  dangling  dagger  shows  ; 

A  slim  lute  slants  his  breast.     I  hear 
The  leaf-crisp  coming  of  his  foot — 

No  wonder  that  the  regnant  Year 
Bends  on  his  beauty  blushes  mute, 
And  siffhs  to  be  his  lute. 


BENEATH  THE  BEECHES. 


|  LONG,  oh  long  to  lie 

'Neath  beechen  branches,  twisted 
Green  twixt  the  summer  sky; 
The  woodland  shadows  nigh — 
Brown  dryads  sunbeam-wristed  : — 
The  live-long  day  to  dream 
Beside  a  wildwood  stream. 


I  long,  oh  long  to  hear 
The  claustral  forest's  breathings, 
Sounds  soothing  to  the  ear ; 
The  yellow-hammer  near, 
Beam-bright,  thrid  wild-vine  wreath  ings 
The  live-long  day  to  cross 
Slow  o'er  the  nut-strewn  moss. 
(36) 


BENEATH  THE  BEECHES.  37 


III 

I  long,  oh  long  to  see 

The  nesting  red-bird  singing 

Glad  on  the  wood- rose  tree ; 

To  watch  the  breezy  bee, 

Half  in  the  wild-flower,  swinging ; 

God's  live-long  day  to  pass 

Deep  in  cool  forest  grass. 

IV 

Oh  you,  so  belted  in 

With  mart  and  booth  and  steeple, 

Brick  alley- ways  of  Sin, 

What  hope  for  you  to  win 

Ways  free  of  pelf  and  people  ! 

Ways  of  the  leaf  and  root 

And  soft  Mygdonian  flute! 


ANDALIA. 


,  that  did  waken  you, 
^  Song,  that  had  taken  you, 
Has  not  forsaken  you  : 
Still  with  the  Spring 
My  mad  and  merriest 
Part  of  the  veriest 
Season  and  cheeriest  ; 
You,  who  can  bring 
Airs  that  the  birds  have  taught  you  ; 
Grace  that  the  winds  have  brought  you; 
Mien  that  the  lilies  laughed  you  ; 
Thoughts  that  the  high  stars  waft  you— 

Are  you  a  human  thing? 
(38) 


AND  ALIA. 


II 

Dreams — are  you  aught  with  them? 
You  who  are  fraught  with  them  ; 
You,  like  their  thought,  with  them 

Beautiful  too. 

Life — you  're  a  gleam  of  it ; 
Love — you're  a  dream  of  it; 
Hope— you  're  a  beam  of  it 

Bound  in  the  blue 
Gray  of  big  eyes  that  are  often 
Laughter  and  languor  ;  that  soften 
On  to  me  sweetly  and  slowly 
Out  with  your  soul  that  is  holy, 
So  purer  than  dew. 

in 

Face,  like  the  sweetest  of 
Perfumes,  com  pie  test  of 
Flowers  God's  fleetest  of 

Months  ever  bear. 
Sleep,  who  walk  crisper,  sleep, 
Than  the  frost,  lisper  sleep, 


40  AND  A  LI  A. 

Have  you  a  whisper,  sleep, 

Soft  as  her  hair  f 
Night  and  the  stars  did  spin  it ; 
^tars  and  the  night  are  in  it ; 
Let  birt  one  ray  of  it  bind  me, 
And,  did  the  blind  Fates  blind  me, 

Fair  I  should  know  her,  fair  ! 

IV 

Love — has  it  mated  you  ? 
Love,  that  has  waited  you, 
Love,  that  was  fated  you 

Here  for  a  while. 
Song,  can  you  sing  in  me 
Fuller,  or  bring  in  me 
Peace,  that^will  cling  in  me 

So  through  all  trial, 
Such  as  her  smile?  like  the  morning's 
Fashioning  luminous  warnings, 
Rose,  of  a  passion  unspoken : 
Love,  'tis  your  seal  and  its  token — 
The  light  of  her  smile. 


NOERA. 

'OEIIA,  when  sad  Full 

Has  grayed  the  fallow; 
Leaf-cramped  the  wood-brook's  brawl 

In  pool  and  shallow ; 
When  sober  wood-walks  all 
Strange  shadows  hallow  : 

Noe'ra,  when  gray  gold 

And  golden  gray 
The  crackling  hollows  fold 

By  every  way, 
Thee  shall  these  eyes  behold, 

Dear  bit  of  May? 

When  webs  are  cribs  for  dew, 

And  gossamers, 
Long  streaks- of  silver-blue; 

4  (41) 


42  NO  ERA. 


When  silence  stirs 
One  dead  leaf's  rusting  hue 
Among  crisp  burs. 

Noe'ra,  in  the  wood 

Or  mid  the  grain, 
Thee,  with  the  hoiden  mood 

Of  wind  and  rain 
Fresh  in  thy  sunny  blood, 

Sweetheart,  again  ? 

Noe'ra,  when  the  corn 

Heaped  on  the  fields 
Deep  aster  stars  adorn 

With  purple  shields, 
Defying  the  forlorn 

Decay  death  wields : 

Noera,  haply  then, 

Thou  being  with  me, 
Each  ruined  greenwood  glen 

Will  bud  and  be 
Spring's  with  the  Spring  again, 

The  Spring  in  thee. 


NOERA.  43 


Thou  of  the  breezy  tread, 

Feet  of  the  breeze ; 
Thou  of  the  sun-beam  head, 

Heart  like  a  bee's; 
Face  like  a  woodland-bred 

Anemone's. 

Thou  to  October's  death 

An  April  part 
Bring,  while  she  taketh  breath 

Against  Death's  dart; 
Noera,  one  who  hath 

Made  mine  a  heart. 

,Come  with  our  golden  year, 

Come  as  its  gold  : 
With  thy  same  laughing,  clear, 

Loved  voice  of  old; 
In  thy  cool  hair  one  dear, 

Wild  marigold. 


JULIA. 


§YOU,  who  know  such  Mays  as  blow 
The  cowslips  by  the  ways,  dear, 
The  mountain-pink  whose  heart,  you  'd  think, 
The  thorn-pierced  sparrow's  blood  did  drink, 
In  their  wise  way,  how — can  you  say? — 

Is  it  you're  like  such  Mays,  dear? 
In  moods  that  run  from  shade  to  sun, 
A  thoughtful  gloom;  like  wild  perfume, 
A  winning  smile  that  laughs  down  guile — 

Dear  day !  so  go  such  days,  dear. 


In  you  some  s.ong  keeps  trying  long, 

Like  some  song  bird,  for  flight,  child; 
And  when  you  speak  all  up  your  cheek 
A  crystal  blush  will  faintly  flush 

(44) 


JULIA.  45 


So  saintly  sweet !  and  at  your  feet 
All  shadow  turns  to  light,  child. 
You  may  not  know,  but  it  is  so, 
If  you  but  look,  hark  !    far  a  brook 
Foams  white  through  buds!  for  of  the  woods 
I  know  you  are  some  sprite,  child. 

Ill 

Yes,  yes;  I  swear  that  what's  your  hair 
Is  but  the  soft-spun  wind,  love  : 

Why,  when  you  move  it  is  as  Love 

Hid  in  your  grace  and  feet  to  face 

Peeped  roguishly ;  and  well  I  see 
This  Love  is  not  a  blind  Love. 

Laugh,  and  I  hear,  in  each  pink  ear 

Wood-blossoms  strain,  dew-words  of  rain 

Slip  musical,  for  you  are  all 
Of  music  to  my  mind,  love. 


LORA. 


Jy  ORA  is  her  name  that  slips 
*^  Nearly  love  between  the  lips: 
You  must  know  she  is  so  wise 
All  she  does  is  lift  her  eyes 
At  her  name  and  that  replies — 
She  's  so  wise,  is  Lora. 


Lora  is  her  name  that  makes 
All  the  heart  a  chord  that  shakes ; 
When  she  speaks,  she  is  so  blessed, 
Life's  hard  riddle  none  has  guessed 
Softens,  and  the  soul 's  caressed 

By  the  words  of  Lora. 
(46) 


LOR  A.  47 


III 

Lora  is  her  name  that  brings 
Kisses  as  of  airy  things. 
Honied  hum  of  bees  that  deep 
In  the  rumpled  blue-bells  creep, 
Buoyant  sun-hearts  forests  keep 
For  their  shadows'  lives,  such  leap 
In  the  life  of  Lora. 

IV 

Lora,  when  I  find  your  face, 
Round  your  white  neck  I  will  lace 
One  firm  arm,  and  so  will  woo 
Your  small  mouth,  as  fresh  as  dew, 
With  quick  kisses,  love,  that  you 
Follow  must  where  hearts  are  true, 
Somewhere,  somewhere,  Lora. 


BLANCH. 

1|J>  LANCH  is  adorable  and  wise 
*^     As — glad  winds  teaching  birds  to  sing: 
Steal  thou  and  gaze  deep  in  her  eyes; — 
Such  scholars  of  the  starry  skies! 
— Canst  marvel  at  the  thing? 

Nay.     Blanch,  like  some  red  bud  that  blows, 

Hoards  honey  in  her  sunny  heart: 
Study  her  smile;  wouldst  not  suppose 
She  from  some  warm,  white,  serious  rose 
Had  learned  the  happy  art? 

Aye.     Words  that  tarry  on  her  tongue 

Fall  more  than  musical  thereof: 
And  why?    T  is  this:  her  soul  was  strung 
A  harp  at  birth  to  hope  that  sung, 

Now  hope  is  joined  with  love. 
(48) 


PHYLLIS. 

I 

I  were  her  lover 
I  'd  wade  through  the  clover 
Over  five  fields  or  more; 
Over  the  meadows 
To  stand- with  the  shadows, 
The  shadows  that  circle  her  door. 
I'd  walk  through  the  clover 

Yes,  by  her; 
And  over  and  over 

I  'd  sigh  her, 
''Your  eyes  are  as  brown 
As  a  Night's  looking  down 
On  waters  that  sleep 
With  the  moon  in  their  deep  .  .  ." 

If  I  were  her  lover  to  sigh  her. 

(49) 


50  PHYLLIS. 


II 

If  I  were  her  lover 
I  'd  wade  through  the  clover 
Over  five  fields  or  more  ; 
And  deep  in  the  thickets 
Or  there  by  the  pickets, 
White  pickets  that  fence  in  her  door, 
I  'd  lean  in  the  clover — 

The  crisper 
For  the  dews  that  are  over — 

And  whisper, 
"  Your  lips  are  as  rare 
As  the  dewberries  there, 
Half  ripe  and  as  red, 
On  the  honey-dew  fed — " 

If  I  were  her  lover  to  whisper. 

in 

If  I  were  her  lover 
I  'd  wade  through  the  clover 
Over  five  fields  or  more; 
And  watch  in  the  twinkle 


PHYLLIS. 


Of  stars  that  sprinkle 
The  paradise  over  her  door. 
And  there  in  the  clover 

I'd  reach  her; 
And  over  and  over 

I  'd  teach  her, 
A  love  without  sighs, 
Of  laughterful  eyes, 
That  reckoned  each  second 
The  pause  of  a  kiss, 
A  kiss  and   .  .  .  that  is 

If  I  were  her  lover  to  teach  her. 


VALKYRIEN. 


•  EVER  a  thought  of  aught  save  slaughter, 

Slaughter  that  smears  the  spears  that  thunder! 
Anger  of  ax  that  shines,  like  a  water 

Gashed  in  the  night  of  the  levin's  wonder. 
Darts  in  the  eye  and  their  bleak  barbs  bristling, 

Shaking  the  heart  ere  the  lance  hath  stroken ; 
Hum  of  arrows  and  broad-swords'  whistling; 

Strength,  like  an  ash,  unbowed,  unbroken. 
By  the  eyevof  Odin,  whose  frown  is  war!— 
Think  of  the  vikings'  daughters  who  wear 
Gold  on  their  hips,  and  the  weights  of  their  hair 
Gold-bound  red  as  the  beard  of  Thor! 
The  virgin  who  brims  in  the  well  her  jar — 
To  rape  then  butcher!  a  kingdom's  ravish 
Yours  for  the  sweat  and  the  blood  you  lavish ! 
(52) 


VALKYRIEN.  53 


Wraths  are  the  pinions  of  Hate  who  clamors — 

Hooked  wings  hovering  over  the  carrion, — 
Joy  of  the  blade  the  helm  that  hammers! — 

Songs  of  slaughter:     The  gnarling  clarion 
Kings  to  the  revel  and  sings:  with  strangling 

Fury  it  fires  the  brain  to  battle : 
Strength  shocks  strength  :  in  its  brass  bray  wrangling 

Smiters  are  smitten :  the  harsh  hills  rattle, 
The  hard  seas  rumble,  the  sharp  winds  wail. 
Think! — were  it  better  by  hollow-eyed  Hel 
To  rot  with  cowards?  or  boast  and  yell 
Hoarse  toasts  o'er  skulls  of  the  boisterous  ale 
High  in  Valhalla,  where  life  wends  well ! — 
The  warrior  vault  of  its  shields  wild  curses 
Laughs  to  the  roar  of  the  berserk  verses  ! 


MOTHS. 


pft  O,  when  the  fiery 
*^*  Glow-worm  in  briery 
Banks  of  the  moon-mellowed  bowers 
Sparkles — so  hazily 
Pinioned  and  airily 
Delicate ! — warily 
Float  to  buds,  lazily, 
Moths  that  are  kin  to  the  flowers. 

II 

White  as  the  dreamiest 
Beams  that  the  creamiest 
Rose  of  the  garden  that  dozes 
Nestles;  that  burn  in  it, 
Held  in  the  heart  of  its 
Heart  like  a  part  of  its 
Perfume,  to  turn  in  it 
Dew,  flit  the  moths  to  the  roses. 
(54) 


MOTHS.  55 


HI 

Slow  as  the  forming  of 
Dew  in  the  warming  of 
Stars,  brush  their  mouths  on  the  petals; 
Open  these  swing  to  them, 
Deep  to  their  sunniest 
Soul,  where  the  honeiest 
Spice  is,  to  fling  to  them 
Nard  through  the  twilight  that  settles.  . 

IV 

So  to  all  tremulous 
Souls  come  the  emulous 
Angels  of  Love.     Else  would  perish, 
Crushed,  all  the  good  in  such : 
Touched,  the  pure  presence  of 
Love  to  the  essence  of 
Light,  a  white  flood,  in  such 
Flatters — aroma  they  cherish. 


AS  IT  IS. 

AN'S  are  the  learnings  of  his  books — 

What  is  all  knowledge  that  he  knows 
Beside  the  wit  of  winding  brooks, 
The  wisdom  of  the  summer  rose! 

How  soil  distils  the  scent  in  flowers 
Baffles  his  science:  Heaven-dyed, 

How,  from  the  palette  of  His  hours. 
God  colors  gives  them,  hath  defied. 

What  broad  religion  of  the  light, 

Ere  stars  in  heaven  beat  burning  tunes, 

Stains  all  the  hollow  edge  of  night 
With  glory  as  of  molten  moons? 

Why  sorrow  is  more  strange  than  mirth, 
And  death  than  birth?  and  afterward, 

What  sweetness  in  the  bitter  earth 
Makes  life's  mortality  so  hard? 

56) 


THOUGHTS. 

i 

[OW  the  may-apple  or 
Solitude  cyclamen — 
Star-perfect  as  a  star — 

In  woodland  glade  and  glen, 
Blossoms  when  breezes  woo, 
With  language  of  the  dew, 
Up  to  the  broken  blue 
Of  lonesome  skies,  do  you 
Know  or  do  I,  love  ? 

II 
Can  wild  anemones 

Think  ?— for  they  tremble  so  ; 
As  if  two  cousin  bees 
This  side  then  that  bent  low.— 

5  (57) 


58  THOUGHTS. 


When  the  soft  sunlight  links, 
Braided  of  dew-drop  winks, 
Crowns  'round  each  head  that  shrinks, 
What  its  heart's  aura  thinks 
Know  you  or  I,  love?  .  .  . 

in 
Know,  when  the  Springtide  trod 

By  in  a  blowing  blush, 
Wise  as  a  gaze  of  God 

Holding  all  Heaven  a-hush, 
Love  was  her  thought  and  love 
Through  the  vast  soul  above 
Wrought  so,  they  sprang  thereof, 
Thought  into  thoughts,  were  wove 

Symbols  of  living  love. 


AFTER  THE  TOURNAMENT. 


7|>r  ND  shall  it  be  when  white  thorns  flake 
i/®*>  With  blossoms  all  the  budding  brake, 
The  rustle  of  one  lifting  leaf 

Will  whisper  low ; 
And  one  be  near  thee  as  thy  grief — 
And  wilt  thou  know? 

II 

Or  shall  it  be,  when  blows  and  dies 
The  forest  columbine,  two  eyes 

Will  bloom  against  thine  faint  as  frost? 

Thou,  deep  in  dreams, 
Wilt  hark  what  plaintive  winds  sigh,  lost 
In  life  that  seems? 

(59) 


60  AFTER  THE  TOURNAMENT. 


Ill 

Or  shall  it  be  where  rocks  slope,  smooth 
With  water-wear,  where  vague  lights  soothe ; 
One  in  an  old  lute  will  beseech 

Thy  listening  ears 
With  Provence  melodies,  that  reach 
The  soul  like  tears  ? 

IV 

Yes;  this  will  be— Loop  thy  white  arm. 

Beneath  my  hair  ...  so ;  let  thy  warm 

Blue  eyes  dream  on  me  for  a  space, 

A  little  while ; 

Love,  it  will  rest  me;  and  thy  face— 
Ah,  let  it  smile. 

V 

Now  art  thou  thou.     Yet— let  thy  hair 
A  golden  fragrance  fall ;  thy  fair 

Full  throat  bend  low ;  thy  kiss  be  hot 

With  life  not  dry 

With  anguish.     Sweet  my  Evalott ! 
Now  let  me  die. 


AMONG  THE  ACEES  OE  THE  WOOD. 


1  KNOW,  I  know, 

Jr 

*  The  way  doth  go, 
Athwart  a  greenwood  glade,  oh  ! — 
White  gleam  the  wild-plumes  in  that  glade, 
White  as  the  bosom  of  the  maid 
Who  stooping  sits  and  milks  and  sings 
Among  the  dew-dashed  clover-rings, 
When  fades  the  flush,  the  henna-blush, 
Of  evening's  glow,  an  orange  slow, 
And  all  the  winds  are  are  laid,  oh ! 

II 

I  wot,  I  wot, 
And  is  it  not 

Right  o'er  the  viney  hill  ? 
Say  !  where  the  wild-grapes  mat  and  make 
Penthouses  to  each  bramble-brake, 

(61) 


62       AMONG  THE  ACRES  OF  THE  WOOD. 


And  dangle  plumes  of  fragrant  blooms? 
Where  leaking  sunbeams  string  the  glooms 
With  beryl  beads  ?  where  sprinkled  weeds 
Blue  blossoms  fill  ?  and  shrill,  oh  shrill, 
Sings  all  night  long  one  whippoorwill? 

Ill 

I  ween,  I  ween 
The  path  is  green 
'Neath  beechen  boughs  that  let 
Gay  glances  of  the  bashful  sky 
Gleam  usward  like  a  girlish  eye. 
At  night  one  far  and  lambent  star 
Shines  limpid,  like  a  watching  Lar; 
'Mid  branching  buds  a  tangled  bud. 
Where  in  the  acres  of  the  wood 
Blow  strips  of  wet,  wild  violet, 
There  only  we  have  trysting  met. 


LOVE  A-MILKING. 

I 
"TJTOARD  no  more  hope!  believe  me!" 

B[    _"Thou  wouldst  not  make  me  poor!" 
"  Wouldst  lead  me  to  deceive  me? 

As  many  a  maid  before, 
To  win  me  then  to  leave  me? — 
Say  no  more,  sir,  say  no  more !" 

"Love  trusts!  sweet  faith!  thereof,  my  lass, 
Trust  wins  to  trust  above,  my  lass — 
Love  's  older  than  our  love,  my  lass, 
Not  wiser  than  of  yore." 

II 
"Thy  love  is  over  simple 

To  woo  one  on  the  leas ; 
One's  kirtle  torn  ;  in  wimple 

Unbusked  ;  tanned  by  the  breeze." 
—"Thou  needest  but  that  dimple- 
On  thy  knees,  Love,  on  thy  knees! 

(63) 


64  LOVE  A- MIL  KING. 


"What's  wiser  than  thine  eyes,  my  lass? 
Thy  heart?— Beneath  God's  skies,  my  lass, 
Love !  wiser  than  the  wise,  my  lass — 
We  blind!  'tis  Love  who  sees. 

nr 

"  'Low  apple  blossoms  breaking 
Pay  me  the  kiss  dost  owe." 
— "'Tis  thine,  thine  be  the  taking." 

— "Aboon  the  afterglow 
Three  kiss-soft  stars  are  waking — 
Walk  slow,  my  love,  walk  slow." 

"  More  dear  the  dusk  for  dew,  my  lad ; 
More  sweet  the  stars  when  few,  my  lad ; 
Life's  trials,  when  love  is  true,  my  lad, 
Are  lighter  than  we  know." 


ROMANTIC  LOVE, 
i 

S  it  not  sweet  to  know  ? — 
The  moon  hath  told  me  so — 
That  in  some  lost  romance,  love, 
Long  lost  to  us  below, 
A  knight  with  casque  and  lance,  love, 
A  thousand  years  ago, 
I  kissed  you  from  a  trance,  love, — 

The  moon  hath  told  me  so. 


II 

Or  were  it  strange  to  wis  ? 
The  stars  have  told  me  this — 
Once  sang  a  nightingale,  love, 
On  some  old  isle  of  Greece ; 
A  wizard  loved  its  wail,  love, 

(65) 


66  ROMANTIC  LOVE. 

That  it  might  never  cease, 
From  the  full  notes  a  woman, 
More  lovely  than  one  human, 
Devised — so  goes  the  tale,  love, — 
The  stars  have  told  me  this. 

in 

Is  it  not  quaint  to  tell? — 
The  flowers  remember  well — 
Was  once  a  rose  that  blew,  love, 
Pale  in  a  haunted  dell ; 
And  one,  a  Fairy  true,  love, 
By  loving  broke  the  spell, 
And  lo !  the  rose  was — you,  love,- 
The  flowers  remember  well. 


IV 

To  moon  and  flower  and  star 
We  are  not  what  we  are : 
Sometimes,  from  o'er  that  sea,  love, 
Whose  scolloped  sands  are  far — 
From  shores  of  Destiny,  love, — 


ROMANTIC  LOVE.  07 


The  winds  that  wing  and  war, 
Will  waft  a  thought  that  glistens 
To  memory  who  listens, 
Beminding  thee  and  me,  love, 
We  are  not  what  we  are. 


PASTORAL  LOVE. 

E  pied  pinks  tilt  in  the  wind  that  worries — 
Oh,  the  wind  and  the  tan  o'  her  cheek ; 
And  the  close  sun  sleeps  on  the  rye  nor  hurries — 
And  what  shall  a  lover  speak? 

The  toad-flax  flowers  in  flaxen  hollows — 

Oh,  the  bloom  and  her  yellow  hair ; 
And  the  greenwood  brook  a  wood- way  follows — 

'Shall  say  to  the  shy  and  fair? 

The  gray  trees  stoop  where  the  daylight  sprinkles — 
Hey,  the  day  and  the  shine  i'  her  eye; 

And  a  gray  bird  pipes  and  a  wild  brook  tinkles — 
And  what  may  a  maid  reply  ? 

(68) 


PASTORAL  LOVE.  69 


Hey,  the  hills  when  the  evening  settles! 

Oh  the  Edens  within  her  eyes ! 
Say,  the  tryst  mid  the  dropping  petals ! 

Lo,  the  low  replies! 

"Yes,  when  the  west  is  a  blur  of  roses" — 

But  what  o'  the  buds  o'  thy  cheeks,  my  dear? 
"  Yes,  when  there 's  rest  and  the  twilight  closes  " — 
"And  love  is  breathed  in  the  ear." 


IMMORTAL. 

SK  what  thou  wilt!  long  hast  thou  lived  with 
flowers 

And  dreams  and  trod  the  way 
Of  pleasure — for  one  ray? — 
Ask  what  thou  wilt  of  all  thy  lived-out  hours." 

And  shall  it  be,  when  stooping  to  me  there 

He  said,  "She  sleeps,"  and  I 

Dreaming  divined  his  sigh, 
And  felt  fierce  lips  moist-crushed  to  mouth  and  hair? 

No :    Shall  it  be,  when  that  mad  night  his  fingers 
Held  from  my  brow  the  curls, 
Dropping  like  unstrung  pearls 

Words  of  his  love  fell— words  whose  memory  lingers? 
(70) 


IMMORTAL. 


No:   Shall  it  be,  when,  while  the  distant  sea 
Gleamed,  folded  breast  to  breast, 
With  hope  his  heart  expressed, 

"Such  all  thy  present,  0  futurity!  " 

No :   Shall  it  be,  when,  belted  with  his  arms, 

Looked  in  my  soul  his  soul, 

Embracing  with  the  whole 
Truths  of  our  eyes,  our  lives  laughed  drugged  with 

charms? 
No !  No  I — that  hour  wherein  he  left  me  lost ! 

Stunned,  fallen  and  despised 

Before  the  world  he  prized, 
When,  God  forgive  me !  when  I  loved  him  most ! 


SLEEP. 

M?  OOK  in  my  eyes!  oh  the  mild  and  mysterious  • 
•^     Deeps  of- thy  eyes  that  are  holy  with  rest! — 
Sigh  to  me!  yes,  as  thy  cousin,  imperious 
Love,  might,  with  lips  that  are  soft  and  delirious, 

Soft  with  such  pureness  as  blesses  the  blessed. 
Fold  all  my  soul  in  the  mild  and  mysterious 
Might  of  thy  rest. 

All  the  night  for  thy  love,  all  the  night!    while  the 

gladdening 

Presence  of  dark  as  a  legend  of  old 
Speaks  in  me  poesy;  none  of  the  saddening 
Prose  of  the  day  that  is  sad  with  the  maddening 

Heart  of  unrest  that  is  heartless  and  cold. 
All  the  night  for  thy  love,  all  the  night!    and  its 
gladdening 

Beauty  of  old. 
(72) 


SLEEP.  73 

Scorn  is  not  thine,  nor  is  hate;  but  the  bubbling 
Fountains  of  strength  that  are  youthful  with  morns; 

Hurt  is  not  thine  of  remembrance;  the  troubling 

Bruises  of  waking  whose  fingers  keep  doubling- 
Doubling  on  temples  life's  cares  that  are  thorns. 

Thine  are  the  hours  of  the  stars  and  the  bubbling 
Wells  of  the  morns. 

Pride  and  the  passion  of  greed  that  do  worry  us, 

Mix  with  and  brutalize;  sorrow  and  spite 
At  the  heart  that 's  ari-ach^  with  the  tears  that  will 

hurry  us 
On  in  the  iron  of  anguish  to  bury  us — 

Touch  them  and  calm  with  thy  fingers  of  white. 
Make  all  these  passions  and  pains,  that  do  worry  us, 
Kight  with  the  night. 

Thine  are  the  mansions  of  slumber;  the  flowery 
Fields  of  the  visions  that  blossom  the  dreams; 

Thine  the  high  mountains  of  peace  that  lie  showery 

Under  the  stars;  and  the  valleys  of  bowery, 
Balmy  forgettings  made  misty  with  streams. 

Thine  the  white  halcyon  mansions,  the  flowery 
Pastures  of  dreams. 


74  SLEEP. 


Stay  for  me ;  stand  by  me ;  stoop  to  me ;  pray  for  me ! 

Pray,  my  Madonna,  the  incense  of  prayer! 
Mother  of  hope !  whose  kind  eyes  are  a-ray  for  me, 
Vestal  with  goodness,  that  fills  all  the  day  for  me 

New  with  a  vigor  that  masters  despair. 
Stay  for  me ;  be  of  me  breath  of  me ;  pray  for  me, 
Sister  of  Prayer ! 


GHOSTLY  WEATHER. 

flaws  of  drizzle  hoot  and  hiss 
*&)  Through  dodging  lindens  whistled  through: 
The  dead's  own  days  be  days  like  this — 
Yea:  let  me  sit  and  be  with  you, 

Here  in  your  willow-chair  whose  seat 

Spreads  scarlet  plush.     Hark!  how  the  gusts 

In  sad  seolian  cracks  repeat 

Mild  moans.     They  haunt  your  rooms,  whose  dusts 

Wan-wind  each  ornament  and  chair  : 
That  locked  in  memory  where  you  died. 
Since  angels  stood  there  saintly  fear 
Guards  each  dark  angle,  mournful-eyed. 

Through  this  dim  eve  stoop  your  dim  face; 
Gray  gaze,  like  rain-drops',  dimly  deep; 
A  soft  gray  cloudiness  of  lace, 
Stand  near  me  while  I  sleep,  I  sleep. 

(75) 


THE  BRIDLE-PATH. 


THROUGH  meadows  of  the  iron-weeds, 
*       Whose  purple  blooms  flash,  slipping 
Twice-twinkling  drops  of  dewy  beads, 
The  thin  path  twists  and  winding  leads 
Through  woodland  hollows  dripping; 
Down  to  a  creek  with  bedded  reeds; 
On  to  the  lilied  dam  that  feeds 
The  mill,  whose  wheel  through  willow-bredcs 
Winks,  the  white  water  whipping. 


It  wends  through  meads  of  mint  and  brush 
Where  silvery  seeds  sink  drowsy, 

Or  sail  along  the  heatful  hush  : 

Past  where  the  bobwhite  in  the  bush 
Has  built  a  nest,  and  frowsy 

(70) 


THE  BRIDLE-PATH.  77 


Hides  calling  clear.     A  split  through  crush 
Of  crowded  saplings  low  and  lush; 
A  seam  by  pools  of  flag  and  rush 
Where  blows  the  brier-rose  blowsy. 

ill 

Across  the  ragweed  fallow-lot 

Whose  low  rail-fence  encumbers 
The  dense-packed  berries  ripening  hot; 
Where  on  the  summer  one  far  spot 
Of  gray  the  gray  hawk  slumbers. 
Then  in  the  greenwood  where  the  rot 
Of  leaves  and  loam  smells  cool ;  and  shot 
With  dotting  dark  the  touch-me-not 
Swings  curling  horns  in  numbers. 

IV 

Around  brown  rocks  that  bulge  and  lie 

Deep  in  damp  ferns  and  mosses, — 
Like  giants,  each  lounged  on  his  thigh 
To  watch  some  forest  quarry  die, — 
The  path  toils  steep ;  then  crosses 


78  THE  BRIDLE-PATH. 


A  bramble-bridge;  up-whirring  nigh 
A  wood-dove  startles,  'thwart  the  sky 
A  jarring  light:  rock-babbling  by 
The  brook  its  diamonds?  tosses. 


Ho  !  through  the  wild  wood  then  we  go 

In  pulse  of  shade  and  singing; 
Where  pale-pink  sorrel-grasses  grow  ; 
The  vari-colored  toadstools  sow 

And  swell  dark  soils,  bestringing 
Rough  red-oak  roots.     Where,  swinging  low 
Their  green  burs,  limbs  rub  when  each  slow 
Faint  forest  wind  sounds.     Fresh  the  flow 

Of  hidden  waters  ringing. 

VI 

While  far  away  among  the  cane, 

Or  spice-bush  belts,  the  tinkle 
Of  one  stray  bell  drifts  yet  again, 
Lost  near  some  lone  and  leafy  lane 

Where  smooth  the  red  ruts  wrinkle.  . 


THE  BRIDLE-PA1H.  79 


Fills  all  the  skies  a  grayish  stain 
Of  smoky  blue.     A  hint  of  rain. 
The  sun  is  hid.     Hard  down  the  grain 
A  gust  dents;  and  a  sprinkle 


VII 


The  dimpled  dust  has  drilled.     Hark !— one 

Big  mouthful  of  the  thunder- 
Gruff.     Scurrying  with  the  dust  we  run 
Into  a  whiff  of  hay  and  sun, 

Of  cribs  and  barns ;  and  under 
The  martin-builded  eaves,  where  dun 
The  sparrows  house  with  fussy  fun, 
"  Will  it  be  done  soon  as  begun  ?  " 
We  wonder  and  we  wonder. 


VIII 


A  crashing  wedge  of  stormy  light 
Vibrating  blinds,  and  dashes 

A  monster  elm  to  splinters  white. 

Husli :  then  a  fit  of  rain  that  bright 
The  tumbled  straw-stacks  lashes. 


80  THE  1UUDLE-PAT1I. 


The  rain  is  over.     Left  and  right 
Foregathering  gales  of  green  delight, 
Fresh  rain-scents  of  each  holt  and  height 
Where  each  blade  drips  and  flashes. 

IX 

A  ghostly  gold  grows  slowly  through 
The  crumbled  clouds;  and  woven 
From  rainy  rose  to  rainy  blue 
A  strange,  sweet  dotting  as  of  dew 

Dies  into  trembling  cloven. 
High-buoyed  in  rack  now  one  or  two 
White  stars  shine  slight — the  pirate  clew 
To  Night's  rich  hoard.     The  west 's  a  hue. 
Of  bruised  pomegranate  cloven. 


NOONING. 


WEAK  winds  that  make  the  water  wink, 
' 
White  clouds  that  sail  from  lands  of  Fable 

To  white  Utopias  vague,  and  sink 

Down  gulfs  of  blue  unfathomable: 

Their  rolling  shadows  drifting 
O'er  fields  of  forest  lifting 

Wild  peaks  of  purple  range  that  loom  and  link. 

II 

Warm  knolls  whereon  the  Nooning  dreams; 
In  droning  dells  that  bask  in  brightness, 
Low-lulled  with  hymns  of  mountain  streams' 
Far-foaming  falls  of  windy  whiteness; 

Where  from  the  glooming  hollow, 
With  cawing  crows  that  follow, 
The  hunted  hawk  wings  wearily  and  screams. 

(81) 


82  NOONING. 


Ill 

Thick-buzzing  heat  the  dryness  fills 

Where  ever  some  hoarse  locust's  whirring; 

No  answering  voice  shouts  in  the  hills 

Receding  echoes  far-recurring — 

As  when  the  dawning  dimpled, 
With  hazel  twilight  wimpled, 

From  dewy  tops  called  o'er  responding  rills. 

IV 

Wan  with  sweet  summer  tips  the  deep 

Hot  heaven  with  the  high  sun  hearted — 

A  wide  May-apple  bloom  asleep 

With  golden-pistiled  petals  parted. — 

Now,  could  befall, — her  pouting 
Cheeks  anger-red — from  sprouting 

Rock-mosses  some  white  wild  wood  dream  might  leap. 


THE  LOG-BRIDGE. 


AST  month,  where  the  low  log-bridge  is  laid 

O'er  the  woodland  brook,  in  the  belts  o'  the  shade, 
To  the  right,  to  the  left  pink-packed,  was  made 

A  gloaming  glory  of  scented  tangle 
By  the  bramble-roses  deep — that  wade 
High-heaped  on  the  sides — when  they  bloomed  to  fade, 
And  wilting  powdered  the  ruts,  and  swayed 

To  the  waters  beneath  loose  loops  of  spangle : 
Wide  eyes  of  buff'  which  the  pale  lids  braid, 

Murmurous-soft  with  the  bees  a-wrangle. 

II 

This  month — 'tis  August — the  lane  that  ]eads 
To  the  bramble-bridge  runs  waste  with  weeds, 
That  lift  bright  saffron.     Light  satin  seeds 
Of  thistle-fleece  blow  by  you  hazy ; 

(83) 


THE  LOG-BRIDGE. 


Starry  the  hedge  with  the  thousand  bredes 
Of  the  yellow  daisy — like  sweet-eyed  creeds 
Peacefully  praying; — now  by  you  speeds 

A  butterfly  sumptuous  with  mottle  and  lazy. 
Dull  yellowish-white,  where  the  blue-bird  pleads, 

The  sumach's  tassel  tilts  low  as  the  daisy. 

in 

All  golden  the  spot  in  the  noon's  gold  shine, 
Where  the  yellow-bird  sits  with  eyes  of  wine 
And  swings  and  whistles;  where  line  on  line 

In  coils  of  warmth  the  sunbeams  nestle  ; 
Where  cool  by  the  pool  (where  the  crawfish,  fine 
As  a  shadow's  shadow,  darts  dim)  to  mine 
The  damp  creek-clay,  with  their  peevish  whine 

Come  mason-hornets  and  roll  and  wrestle 
Wet  balls  of  earth  to  their  breasts,  and  twine 

Cylindrical  nests  on  the  joists  o'  the  trestle. 

IV 

Where  the  horsemint  shoots  through  the  grasses  high, 
On  the  root-thick  rivage  that  roofs,  a  dry 
Gray  knob  that  bristles  with  pink,  the  sigh 

Of  crickets  is  sharp  'neath  the  dead  leaves'  bosoms. 


THE  LOG-BRIDGE.  85 

At  twilight  sad  you  will  hear  the  cry 

Of  a  passing  bird  flit  twittering  by  ; 

And  the  frogs'  grave  antiphons  rise  and  die ; 

And  here  to  drink  come  the  wild  opossums, 
Where  lithe  on  those  roots  two  lizards  lie 

Brown-backed  like  the  bark,  or  stir  the  blossoms. 


THE  OLD  FAEM. 


and  verandaed  cool, 
***     Locust-girdled  on  the  hill, 
Stained  with  weather-wear  and  full 

Of  weird  whispers,  at  the  will 
Of  the  sad  winds'  rise  and  lull  ; 

I  remember,  stood  it  there 

Brown  above  the  woodland  deep 

In  a  scent  of  lavender, 
With  slow  shadows  locked  in  sleep, 

Or  the  warm  light  everywhere. 

I  remember  how  the  spring, 
Liberal-lapped,  bewildered  its 

Squares  of  orchard  murmuring; 
Kissed  with  budded  puffs  and  bits, 

Where  the  wood-thrush  came  to  sing. 
86) 


THE  OLD  FARM.  87 


Barefoot  so  at  first  she  trod, 

A  pale  beggar  maid,  adown 
The  quaint  quiet,  till  the  god 

With  the  seen  sun  for  a  crown 
And  the  firmament  for  rod, 

Graced  her  nobly,  wedding  her — 

Her  Cophetua ;  and  so 
All  the  hill,  one  breathing  blur, 

Burst  in  blossom ;  peachy  blow  ; 
Wonderstricken  whiteness  pure. 

Seckel,  blackheart,  palpitant 

Kained  their  bleaching  strays  ;  and  white 
Bulged  the  damson  bent  a-slant ; 

Russet-tree  and  romanite 
Seemed  beneath  deep  drifts  to  pant. 

And  it  stood  there,  brown  and  gray, 
In  the  bee-boom  and  the  bloom, 

In  the  murmur  and  the  day, 
In  the  passion  and  perfume, 

Grave  as  age  among  the  gay. 


88  THE  OLD  FARM. 


Good  with  laughter  romped  the  clear 
Boyish  voices  'round  its  walls; 

Rare  wild-roses  were  the  dear 
Girlish  faces  in  its  halls, 

Music-haunted  year  to  year. 

Far  before  it  meadows  full 

Of  green  pennyroyal  sank  ; 
Clover  dots  like  bits  of  wool 

Pinched  from  lambs;  and  now  a  bank 
Bright  of  color;  and  the  cool 

Brown-blue  shadows  undefined 
Of  the  clouds  rolled  overhead — 

Curdled  mists  that  kept  the  wind 
Fresh  with  rain  and  fluting  shed 

Song  among  the  valleys  kind. 

Where  in  mint  and  gipsy-lily 

Ran  the  rocky  brook  away; 
Musical  among  the  hilly 

Solitudes  its  flashing  spray, 
Sunlight-soft  or  forest-stilly. 


THE  OLD   FARM.  89 


Buried  in  thick  sassafras, 
Half-way  up  the  copsy  hill, 

Moved  some  cowbell's  muffled  brass; 
And  the  ruined  water-mill 

Loomed  half-hid  in  cane  and  grass. 

I  remember;  stands  it  yet 
On  the  hilltop,  in  the  musk 

Of  damp  meads,  while  violet 
Deepens  all  the  dreaming  dusk 

Droning  over?  holy  wet. 

With  the  slightest  dew?  while  low 
One  long  tear  of  scarlet  gashes, 

Tattered,  the  broad  primrose  glow 
Westward,  and  in  weakest  splashes 

Lilac  stars  the  heavens  sow  ? 

Sleeps  it  still  among  its  roses 
Dewy  yellow,  while  the  choir 

Of  the  lonesome  insects  dozes  ? 

And  the  white  moon  drifting  higher 

Brightens  and  the  darkness  closes — 

Sleeps  it  still  among  its  roses  ? 


AMONG  THE  KNOBS. 

fHERE  is  a  place  embanked  with  brush 
Three  wooded  knobs  beyond, 
Lost  in  a  valley  where  the  lush 
Wild  eglantine  blows  blonde. 

Where  light  the  dogwoods  earliest 

Their  torches  of  white  fires, 
And  bee-bewildered  east  and  west 

The  red-haws  build  their  spires. 

The  wan  wild-apples'  flowery  sprays 

Blur  through  the  misty  gloom 
A  pensive  pink;  and  by  lone  ways 

The  close  blackberries  bloom. 
(90) 


AMONG  THE  KNOBS.  91 


I  love  the  spot:  A  shallow  brook 

Slips  from  the  forest  near, 
Bird-haunted;  flags  in  many  a  nook; 

Its  rustling  depths  so  clear 

The  minnows  glimmer  where  they  glide 

Above  its  rocky  bed — 
A  long,  dear,  boyhood's  brook,  not  wide, 

Which  has  its  sparkling  head 

Among  the  rainy  hills,  and  drops 

By  four  low  waterfalls- 
Wild  music  of  an  hundred  stops— 

Between  the  leafy  walls 

Against  the  water-gate,  that  hangs 

A  rude  portcullis  dull 
Of  wan-washed  wood,  whose  clumsy  fangs 

The  cress  makes  beautiful. 

The  bright  green  dragon-flies  about 

The  seeding  grasses  swim  ; 
The  streaked  wasps  worrying  in  and  out, 

Dart  fretfully  and  slim. 


92  AMONG  THE  KNOBS. 


Here  in  the  moon-gold  moss  that  glows 
Like  jets  of  moonlight,  dies 

The  weak  anemone  ;  and  blows 
Some  flower  less  blue  than  skies. 

And,  where  in  April  tenderly 

The  dewy  primrose  made 
A  thin,  peculiar  fragrance,  we 

In  the  pellucid  shade 

Found  wild  strawberries  half-abud  ; 

In  May,  long  berries  fresh 
Hung  pallid-pink  as  wood-bird's  blood 

On  many  a  trailing  mesh. 

Once  from  that  hill  a  farmhouse  mid 
Large  orchards — cozy  brown 

In  lilacs  and  brave  roses  hid — 
With  picket-fence  looked  down. 

O'er  ruins  now  the  roses  guard  ; 

The  plum  and  seckel-pear 
And  apricot  rot  on  the  sward 

Their  wasted  ripeness  there. 


AMONG  THE  KNOBS.  93 


But  when  low  huckleberries  blow 
Their  waxen  bells  I  '11  tread 

Those  dear  accustomed  ways  that  go 
Dim  down  that  orchard  ;  led 

To  that  avoided  spot  which  seems 
The  haunt  of  vanished  Springs ; 

Lost  as  the  hills  in  drowsy  dreams 
Of  visionary  things. 


GARGAPHIE. 

Succinctx  sacra  Dianse.  —  OVID. 


E  the  ragged  sunlight  lay 
*     Tawny  on  thick  ferns  and  gray 

On  dark  waters  ;  dimmer, 
Lone  and  deep,  the  cypress  grove 
Shadowed  whisperings  and  wove 
Braided  lights,  like  those  that  Jove 
On  the  pearl  plumes  of  a  dove 
Pale  to  gleam  and  glimmer. 

II 

There  centennial  pine  and  oak 
Into  stormy  basses  broke  ; 

Hollow  rocks  gloomed  slanting 
Echoy  ;  in  dim  arcade 
Looming  with  loose  moss  that  made 
Sunshine  streaks  in  tatters  laid. 
Oft  a  wild  hart,  hunt  af  rayed, 

Plunged  the  water  panting. 
(94) 


GARGAPHIE.  95 


III 

Poppies  of  a  sleepy  gold 
Mooned  the  gold-green  twilights  old 

Of  its  vistas,  making 
Fuzzy  puffs  of  flame.     And  pale 
Stole  gome  slim  deer  down  a  dale 
Haunting;  and  the  nightingale 
Throbbed  not  near — the  olden  tale 

All  its  hurt  heart  breaking. 

IV 

There  the  hazy  serpolet, 
Glinting  cistus,  blooming  wet, 

Blushed  on  bank  and  boulder; 
There  the  cyclamen,  as  wan 
As  weak  footprints  of  the  Dawn, 
Carpeted  the  spotted  lawn  ; 
There  the  nude  nymph,  dripping  drawn, 

Basked  a  peachy  shoulder. 

V 

In  the  citrine  shadows  there 
What  tall  presences  and  fair, 

White  and  godly  gracious, 
Hidden  where  the  rock-rose  grew, 


96  GARGAPHIE. 


Watched  through  eyeballs  of  the  dew 
Or  from  sounding  oaks,  and  knew 
All  the  mystery  of  blue 

Heaven  vaulted  spacious! 

VI 

Guarded  that  Boeotian 
Valley  so  no  foot  of  man 

Soiled  its  silence  holy 
With  profaning  tread — save  one, 
The  Hyantian :  Aciseon, 
He  beheld— What  god  might  shun 
Fate,  Diana's  wrath  called  on, 

With  what  magic  moly! 

VII 

Lost  it  lies,  like  one  who  sleeps 
In  serene  enchantment.     Keeps 

Beautiful  in  beamy 
Beauty  of  its  blooms  that  be 
Wisdoms;  hope,  its  high  stars  see, 
Near  in  fountains;  deity 
In  wise  wind-words  of  each  tree — 

Gargaphie  the  dreamy. 


ROSICRUCIAN. 

i 

leas  of  white-blown  clover 
Smell  thinly  of  the  rain; 
When  long  drops  wrinkle  over 
Low  lime-leaves  in  the  lane ; 
Among  the  dwindling  acres 
Whence  troop  the  harvest-makers, 
Tanned  reapers,  freckled  rakers, 
Wild  heart,  be  wild  again. 

Where  running  trumpet-flowers, 

Elf  war-horns  red  as  brass, 
The  old  elm  swaying  showers 

Among  its  root-grown  grass  ; 
Where  green  the  daylight  streaming 
Sets  all  the  wild-birds  dreaming, 
Between  the  real  and  seeming, 

Dim  love,  what  words  shall  pass? 

(97) 


98  ROS1 CRUCIAN. 


When  from  the  mustard  fragrant 

Brown  bees  break  rough  with  gold; 
And  breezes  trailing  vagrant 

Spill  half  the  spice  they  hold; 
When  heights  begin  to  glimmer, 
And  shadows,  slipping  slimmer, 
Crouch  by  the  woodland  dimmer, 
What  secrets  shall  be  told  ? 

II 

Where  moonbeam-tangled  reaches 
A  mock-bird  fills  with  moan, 

And  one  fall's  breaking  bleaches 
A  gray  glow  down  its  stone ; 

My  soul  shall  wait  to  meet  you; 

My  heart  shall  hold  and  heat  you; 

My  love  shall  so  complete  you 
That  death  will  not  be  known. 

Though  of  frail  mist  your  members 
That  waver  faltering  white; 

Your  eyes  dark  stars  whose  embers 
Grow  gradually  bright, 


ROS1CRUCIAN.  99 


Not  mine,  dim  love,  to  miss  you; 
But  mine  to  clasp  and  kiss  you; 
Mine  well  to  know  this  is  you, 
To  have  you  with  the  night. 

Lone  sings  the  lonesome  cricket ; 

Wet,  wood  aromas  smell ; 
Deep  in  the  shapeless  thicket 

The  owl  the  hours  doth  tell ; 
Strange  love,  my  lips  shall  name  you — 
Though  demons  rise  to  shame  you 
In  angels'  eyes  and  blame  you — 
Of  heaven,  my  heaven,  though  came  you 

From  Heaven  or  from  Hell. 


HIS  SONG. 


to  me  how  I  pine  to  blow 
^  The  flower  beneath  thy  lattice  low  — 
Then  wouldst  thou  cull  me,  sweet,  and  wear 
A  captive  in  thy  slumberous  hair, 
Thy  hair? 

Sing  to  me  how  I  yearn  to  shine 
Yon  pearly  star  above  yon  pine 
Thou  gazest  on  —  I,  of  the  skies, 
Should  thus  be  taken  to  thine  eyes, 
Thine  eyes? 

Sing  to  me  how  I  'd  be  the  breeze 
Which  dips  the  dandelioned  leas 
Thy  footsteps  find  —  I,  of  the  south, 
Might  live  a  kiss  upon  thy  mouth, 

Thy  mouth? 
(100) 


HIS  SONG.  101 


Sing  to  me  how  my  heart  doth  long 
To  be  the  burden  of  some  song 
Thou  lovest;  so  myself  might  be 
The  melody  of  memory 
To  thee. 


APOCALYPSE. 

||>  EFORE  I  found  you  I  had  found 
•*~^  Of  your  true  eyes  the  open  book 
(Where  re-created  heaven  wound 
Its  wisdom  with  it)  in  the  brook. 

Ah,  when  I  found  you,  looking  in 
Those  Scriptures  of  your  eyes,  above 
All  earth,  o'ersoared  earth's  vulture,  Sin, 
So  apotheosized  to  love. 

And  searching'  yet  beneath  it,  saw 
The  soul  impatient  of  the  sod — 
What  wonder  then  your  love  should  draw 
Me  to  the  nearer  love  of  God. 


102 


ILLUSION. 

1  HAVE  loved  beauty  but  to  find  it  mortal — 
^  All  dearest  things  are  born  but  for  a  tear ; 
I  have  loved  life  whose  cold  hand  points  a  portal, 
That  near,  is  never  near. 

I  have  loved  men  and  learned  we  are  not  brothers — 

0  brother  blindness  that  must  end  in  pain! 

1  have  loved  women,  more  than  all  the  others, 

And  found  them  false  and  vain. 

Made  unseen  stars  my  keblahs  of  devotion ; 
Prayed  for  attainment  and  remained  a  clod : 
Strange  gods  have  worshiped  wildly  while  the  ocean 
Told  of  no  god  but  God. 

Then  in  myself,  all  world  beliefs  laid  level, 
I  searched,  and  found  a  little  jealous  dust 
Hiding  a  tiny  jewel — Ah !  the  evil ! 

That  soiled  the  soul  with  lust. 

(  103  ) 


DUTY  AND  LOVE. 

I 

M^CHAT  makes  thee  beautiful, 
^^s     Answer,  ah,  answer? — 
"It  is  that  dutiful 
Souls  are  all  beautiful: 

'Tis  that  romance  or 
Glamour  of  spirit 
Hearts  of  high  merit 
Of  Heaven  inherit — 

Hast  thou  an  answer?" 

II 
What  makes  thee  loveable, 

Answer,  ah,  answer? — 
"  Love ;  for,  thereof,  able 
Souls  are  made  loveable: 

'T  is  that  which  chance  or 
Birth,  of  the  woman 
Gives  to  illumine 
That  which  is  human — 

Hast  thou  an  answer?" 
(  104  ) 


ar?d  Styadou/s. 


(105) 


BLODEUWEDD. 

'OT  to  that  demon's  son,  whom  Arthur  erst 

por  pr0phecy,  at  old  Caerleon  durst 
Grace  wisely,  Merlin, — not  to  him  alone 
Did  those  lost  learnings  of  high  magic,  done 
With  mystery  of  marvels,  then  belong: 
Taliesin,  now,  hath  told  us  in  a  song 
Of  one  at  Arvon,  Math  of  Gwynedd,  lord 
Of  some  vague  cantrevs  of  the  North,  whose  sword 
Beat  back  and  slew  the  monarch  of  the  South 
Through  puissance  of  Gwydion. 

His  mouth 

Was  wise  with  wondrous  witchcraft;  for  his  word 
Wrought  the  invisible  visible  and  stirred 
Eyes  with  a  seeming  sight  that,  so  deceived, 
The  mind  conceited  shapes  and  shapes  believed ; 

(107) 


108  RLODEUWEDD. 


Wrought  flesh  creations  from  air  elements, 

For,  let  him  wish,  the  winds  were  wan  with  tents, 

And  brassy  blasts  of  war  from  bugles  brayed, 

And  shocking  hosts  of  battle  clanged  and  swayed, 

And  at  a  word  were  naught.     With  little  care 

Steeds  rich-accoutered  and  pied  hounds,  as  fair, 

Limber  and  wiry  as  the  dogs  of  Earth, 

From  forest  fungus  fashioned  and  gave  birth 

To  lives  of  twice  twelve  hours,  wherein  they  moved 

Existences,  and  form  perfections  proved.  .  .  . 

Now  to  Caer  Dathyl  Math  through  Gwydion, — 

The  son  of  Don, — the  daughter  dark  of  Don, 

The  silver-circled  Arianrocl,  had  brought; — 

A  southern  rose  of  beauty,  friendship  sought 

For  full  espousal.     When  the  maiden  came 

Said  Math,  "Art  thou  a  Virgin?"  like  a  flame,        • 

Mantling,  her  answer  angered,  "  Verily, 

I  know  not  other,  lord,  than  that  I  be !  " 

So  wrought  he  then  through  magic  that  the  form 

Of  her  boy  baby  chubby  on  her  arm 

Cuddled  and  cooed.    "  A  Mary?  yea!  "  laughed  Math, 

"Forsooth,  another  Mary!"  then  in  wrath 


BLODEUWEDD.  109 


Set  harsh  hands  on  the  babe  and  fiercely  flung 
Far  in  the  salt  sea;  but  the  hard  winds  clung 
Fast  to  the  Elfin  and  the  lithe  waves  swept 
Him  safely  strand  ward  dry.     Some  fishers  kept 
Him  thus  unseaed  and  christened  Dylan,  Fair 
Son  of  the  Wave,  and  fostered  him  with  care. 

Nor  really  was  this  hers.     But  Gwydion, 

Brother  to  Arianrod,  before  the  sun 

Had  time  to  touch  it  with  one  golden  glaive, 

Some  dim  small  body  on  the  castle  pave 

In  raven  velvet  seized;  and  hiding  he 

Stole  this  from  court  to  subtly  raise  and  be 

A  comely  youth.     In  time  to  Arianrod 

Brought,  swearing  by  the  rood  and  blood  of  God 

This  was  his  sister's  son.     Quoth  she,  "  More  shame 

Dost  thou  disgrace  thee  with  to  mix  our  name 

With  this  dishonor,  brother,  than  myself!" 

And  waxing  wroth  burst  Gwydion,  "The  elf 

Is  thine,  God's  curse!"  and  daggered  her  with  looks. 

And  she  in  turn  waxed  fiery  saying,  "  Books 

Of  wisdom  I  have  read  as  well  as  thou  ! 

And,  yea,  upon  thy  folly,  listen,  now 


HO  BLODEUWEDD. 


I  lay  a  threefold  destiny:   The  first— 
Until  I  name  him,  nameless  is  he!— Cursed 
Be  they  who  give  him  arms  with  palsy!  nor 
Shall  he  bear  such  until  I  arm  for  war: 
And  lastly,  know,  however  high  his  birth, 
He  shall  not  wed  a  woman  of  the  Earth, 
Malignity!  to  shame  me  with  thy  sin!" 
So  passed  into  her  tower  and  locked  her  in. 

But  Gwydion,  departing  with  the  youth, 
Swure  he  would  compass  her;  if  not  through  truth, 
Through  wiles  of  learned  magic.     And  he  wrought 
So  that  unbending  Arianrod  was  brought 
To  name  the  lad.     Again  he  fashioned  that, 
Through  boisterous  enchantments  fierce,  he  gat 
Her  to  give  arms.     But  then,  not  for  his  life, 
Howbeit,  might  he  get  him  to  a  wife. 
Persisting  desperate,  anon  the  thing 
Wrought  in  him  blusterous  as  an  early  Spring. 

Now  Llew  the  youth  was  named.     And  Gwydion 
Made  his  complaint  to  Math,  the  mighty  son 
Of  Mathonwy. 


BLODEUWEDD. 


Said  he:  "  Despair  not.     We 
By  charms,  illusions  and  white  sorcery 
Will  seek  to  make— for  have  we  not  such  powers? 
— A  woman  for  him  out  of  forest  flowers." 

And  so  they  toiled  together  one  wan  night, 

When  the  gray  moon  hung  low  and  watched,  a  white, 

Wild  witch's  face  behind  a  mist.     They  took 

Blossoms  of  briers  by  a  bloomy  brook 

Shed  from  the  womby  hills;  and  phantom  blooms 

Of  yellow  broom  that  filtered  faint  perfumes; 

Thin,  rare,  frail  primroses  of  rainy  smell, 

Weak  pink,  cirque-clustered  in  a  glow-worm  dell ; 

Wild-apple  sprigs  that  tipsied  bells  of  blaze 

And  in  far,  haunted  hollows  made  a  haze 

Of  ghostly,  scattered  fragrance;  plaintive  blue 

Of  hollow  harebells  hoary  with  the  dew  ; 

Kingcups  as  golden  as  the  large,  low  stars ; 

And  lilies  which,  rolled  limpid  in  long  bars 

Like  sleepy  starshine,  swayed  aslant  and  spilled 

Slim  nectar-cups  of  musk  the  rain  had  chilled  ; 

Sweet,  wildwood  wind-flowers,  paly,  slight  of  gloss, 

Dimpling  rough  oak-roots  bulging  the  green  moss ; 


112  BLODEUWEDD. 


Lone  on  the  elfin  uplands  pulled  the  buds, 

That  burned  like  spurts  of  moonlight  when  it  suds 

The  rainy  clouds,  of  blossoming  meadow-sweet, 

And  made  a  woman  tall ;  from  crown  to  feet 

Complete  in  beauty.     One  far  lovelier 

Than  Branwen  daughter  of  the  gray  King  Llyr; 

Than  that  dark  daughter  of  Leodegrance, 

The  stately  Gwenhevar.     And  old  romance 

Dreamed  in  the  open  Bibles  of  her  eyes; 

Music  her  motion  ;  and  her  speech,  soft  sighs 

Of  an  acknowledged  love  for  love  again  ; 

Yet  in  her  face  no  least  suggested  pain, 

But  hope,  high  heart,  and  happiness  of  life. 

So  Blodeuwedd  they  named  her  and  as  wife — 
Fair  aspect  of  wild  flowers  baptized  with  dew- 
Gave  that  next  morning  to  the  happy  Llew. 


THE  LADY  OF  VERNE. 


p  ADY  VALORA'S  villa  at  Verne, 

*^  With  its  old,  low  terraces  staired  with  stone; 

A  statue  here  and  a  fluted  urn 

Under  fragrant  limes;  and  the  land  so  lone 

With  the  calling  of  rooks  when  the  west  was  a-burn. 

My  Lady  of  Verne  was  tall  and  fair— 
With  locks  dark  hazel,  and  face  white  rose ; 
Why,  her  long  gray  eyes  and  her  noble  hair, 
Her  slender  lips  and  her  classic  nose, 
Made  song  of  my  heart  like  a  beautiful  air. 

Down  the  orchard  aisles  to  a  dingled  stream 
One  spring  we  strolled  ;  arid  the  treey  hills 
In  the  south  loomed  blue  as  a  fairy  dream ; 
And  I  found  for  her  hair  dim  daffodils — 
Thin  cups  of  gold  full  of  moonish  beam. 

(113) 


114  THE  LADY  OF  VERNE. 


For  her  bosom  a  spray  from  a  hawthorn  tree 
I  tore  with  words  as  dead  as  this  tongue; 
And  the  bees  in  the  bloom  boomed  honeyly 
While  she  laughed  at  my  words  and  merrily  sung, 
" My  Lady  of  Verne,  what  loves  hath  she!" 

What  to  her  was  the  gaze  I  gave 

Of  desperate  hope  in  a  soul  distressed ! 

Love  at  her  feet  cringed  dumb  as  a  slave ! 

Her  lips  by  a  laugh  more  golden  were  pressed — 

Yet  her  smile  waned  away  like  the  light  from  a  wave. 

And  we  walked  in  the  sunset.     So  to  her  home 
We  came  by  the  east.     Slow  settling,  drear 
With  its  five  faint  stars  and  a  crescent  of  foam, 
The  twilight  dusked.     And  we  heard  by  the  mere 
One  distant  bittern  boom  and  drum. 

Can  a  heart  be  serious  so  and  gay  ? — 
What  a  riddle  unread  was  she  to  me! 
When  I  kissed  her  fingers  and  turned  away, 
"Valora  of  Verne" — why,  what  cared  she 
Though  a  soft  light  made  her  eyes  more  gray ! 


THE  LADY  OF  VERNE.  115 


Though  she  lingered  to  watch  me,  that  might  be  !— 
A  slim  moonbeam  in  the  woodbine-maze, 
When  I  turned,  was  her  muslin  drapery, 
Strange  white  that  vanished  in  haunting  haze— 
My  Lady  of  Verne,  why,  what  cared  she ! 

ii 

The  sheaves  of  the  Autumn  had  long  lain  bound; 
The  harvests  of  Autumn  had  long  been  past; 
And  the  latest  snows  fell,  deepening  around, 
And  the  eery  heavens  scowled  overcast; 
And  alone  in  her  room  Valora  I  found. 

Sad  and  lovely.     The  young  Earl's  bride,— 
A  queen  of  dreams. — at  an  oriel  leant, 
Pale  as  the  buds  on  her  warm  hair  tied ; 
The  dented  satin,  flung  stormily,  bent 
Like  beaten  silver  rippling  wide. 

I  mark,  as  I  steal  to  her  side,  two  tears 

Are  vaguely  large  in  her  beautiful  eyes, 

As  large  and  pure  as  the  pearls  she  wears 

On  her  lace-looped  bosom's  sanctities : 

So  I  say  what  I  know,  "Then,  it  appears"  .  .  . 


116  THE  LADY  OF  VERNE. 


And  stop  with,  it  seems,  my  soul  in  my  eyes, — 
"That  you  are  not  happy,  Valora  of  Verne. 
Is  there  that  at  your  heart  which — well,  denies 
These  mocking  mummeries?    True  and  stern 
Is  the  voice  of  the  soul  that  never  lies. 

"Words  of  the  lips  are  not  words  of  the  heart! 
For  hearts  have  a  speech  so  different  from  speech, 
So  secret,  Valora,  too  holy  for  art ! — • 
Never  mistaken! — and  men  could  not  preach 
Mine  from  that  love  yours  said  me  a  part. 

""  All !  all ! — my  God  ! — and  my  all ! — now  life 

Is  what  to  me  and — to  you?"  She  turned 

With  a  hard  look  saying,  "Coward!  his  wife! 

His  wife  !  do  you  hear? — Did  you  dare?  Had  I  spurned 

Your  love? — Yet  I  loved  you  .  .  .  coward!" — A  knife, 

As  she  wheeled  and  caught  at  a  cabinet — 
A  fang  of  scintillant  steel,  keen,  cold — 
Fell  savagely  twinkling;  some  curio  met 
Among  Asian  antiques  bronze  and  gold, 
Mystical,  curiously  graven  and  set. 


THE  LADY  OF  VERNE.  117 


"My  Bactrian  dagger!  the  prick  of  which 
Through  its  ancient  poison  is  death!  ...  If  so — 
If  you  think  you  must  love  me — then"  .  .  .  and  rich 
Was  the  speech  of  her  eyes  in  their  poignant  glow, 
And  my  soul  met  hers  at  its  passionate  pitch. 

And  I  whispered  "  Yes,"  for  my  brain  had  thought 
A  wild  thought  through — "why,  life  were  a  hell 
To  us  so  asunder! "  And  the  blade  I  caught 
With  no  nervous  hand  and  she  leaned  and — well, 
I  stabbed  her  throat  in  its  hollow,  so  naught 

Might  dabble  its  beauty.     She  tottered  there 

To  a  carven  chair.     I  studied  the  blade 

With  its  white-gold  handle  thick  with  the  glare 

Of  devils  in  jewels,  wildly  inlaid ; 

Then  my  breast  to  the  poisonous  point  rent  bare. 

One  stain  of  blood  on  her  throat  and  one 
Dark  red  on  my  heart.     And  I  held  her  and  stood 
Where  a  buhl  clock  ticked;  and  the  sinking  sun 
Through  the  dull,  sad  eve  burst  banked  with  blood 
And  fell — One  moment  and  all  were  done. 


118  THE  LADY  OF  VERNE. 


"  When  the  young  Earl  comes,"  she  whispered,-'  He- 
He  will  leave  us  together.     How  deep  the  night! — 
Do  you  hear  the  dance  and  the  revelry?" 
"  Yes  ;  and  your  cheeks  are  wet  and  white, 
So  cold !  so  cold !  Valora,  to  me." 


THE  SUCCUBA. 

HAVE  dreams  where  I  believe 

I  am  prince  of  some  dim  palace; 
One  at  morn  my  Gene  vie  ve 

Is  at  night  the  Lady  Alice 
Long,  long  dead,  who  was  my  bride ; 
And  she  glowers  at  my  side 

Paly  as  a  crystal  chalice 
Filled  with  fire  diamond-dyed. 

I  have  dreams  and  I  shall  die 

Wondering  on  them.     I  remember 

In  my  sleep  her  icy  eye 

Draws  me  with  its  mournful  ember 

Up  a  castle's  stairs  that  pave 

Alabaster  to  the  wave, 
Ghostly  in  the  gray  November, 

And  my  soul  is  all  her  slave. 

l  119) 


120  THE  SUCCUBA. 


Walls  of  darkness  and  of  night 
Slit  with  casements  tall  of  fire, 

Euby  or  a  glowing  white : 

As  the  wind  breathes  lower,  higher, 

Round  the  towers  spirit  things 

Whisper,  and  a  moaning  sings 
In  the  strings  of  each  huge  lyre 

Set  upon  its  four  chief  wings. 

In  its  corridors  at  tryst 

Flame-eyed  phantoms  meet.     Its  sparry 
Halls  are  misty  amethyst, 

Battlemented  'neath  the  starry 
Dome  of  death  that  none  has  known ; 
Heavens  with  the  green  stars  sown 

Low  and  large,  and  all  their  barry 
Beams  blown  on  an  ocean  lone. 

Can  it  be  a  witch  is  she 
Or  a  vampire,  who  is  whiter 

Than  the  spirits  of  the  sea? 

For  my  dreams  inform  her  brighter 


THE  SUCCUBA.  125 


Than  the  faint  foam-blossoms.     Lo, 
All  this  passion  is  my  foe ! 

For  her  love  lies  tighter,  tighter 
On  my  heart  than  utter  woe. 

I  but  vaguely  know  I  live 

Two  pale  lives  of  sweetest  sorrow, 

Where  my  love  must  give  and  give 
Passion,  that  its  soul  must  borrow 

Of  the  living,  to  the  dead, 

To  the  dear  unhallowed; 

And  should  I  be  death's  to-morrow, 

If  I  knew  I  could  not  dread. 

Lo,  my  dreams  have  drowned  that  place 
In  all  moon-white  flowers:  lilies 

Like  the  influence  of  a  face; 
Knots  of  pearly  amaryllis; 

Cactus-bulks  with  pulpy  blooms 

Puffy  in  the  silver  glooms; 
White  each  hill  with  daffadillies 

O'er  the  olive  ocean  looms. 


126  THE  SUCCUBA. 


But  to  me  their  fragrance  seems 
Poison;  and  their  lambent  luster, 

Spun  of  twilight  and  of  dreams, 
Poison;  and  each  frosty  cluster 

Hides  a  serpent's  fang.     And  I, 

Longing  at  an  oriel  high, 

In  my  soul  make  ache  to  muster 

Heart  to  breathe  of  them  and  die. 

Then  I  feel  big  eyes  as  bright 

As  the  sea-stars.     Gray  with  glitter 

Swims  unto  me,  wound  with  light, 
She.     Deep  hangings  sway  and  flitter 

Loves  and  deeds  of  Amadis 

Darkly  worked.     And  lo,  this  is 

She  the  night  brings,  sweet  and  bitter, 

With  a  bliss  that  is  not  bliss. 

Still  I  kiss  her  eyes  and  hair; 

Smooth  her  tresses  till  their  golden 
Glimmer  sparkles.     Everywhere 

Shapes  of  strange  aromas,  holden 


THE  SUCCUBA.  127 


Of  her  halls,  about  us  troop 
Foggy  forms,  that  float  and  stoop 
On  slow  swells  of  rolling,  olden 
Music  odorous  loop  in  loop. 

Yet  I  see  beneath  it  all, — 

All  this  sorcery, — a  devil, 
Beautiful  and  grandly  tall, 

Broods  with  shadowy  eyes  of  evil. 
And  I  know,  each  lilac  morn, 
In  that  land  a  cactus-thorn, 

Monstrous  on  some  lonely  level, 
Blooms  for  her  I  may  not  scorn. 

I  have  dreams  where  I  believe 
I  am  prince  of  some  dim  palace ; 

One  at  morn  my  Genevieve 
Is  at  night  the  Lady  Alice 

Long,  long  dead. — Who  may  be  brave 

Held  and  haunted  of  the  grave? 
When  through  some  unholy  malice 

One  a  prince  is  and  a  slave. 


HIS  FIRST  MISTRESS. 

REIGN   OF  LOUIS  XIV. 


CE  on  the  lips  and  twice  on  the  eyes 
*     I  kiss  you  or  ever  I  kiss  your  bosom  — 
When  love  is  true  would  you  have  it  wise, 
Wise  as  the  world  goes?    No  ;  't  is  a  blossom 
Lovely  and  wise  since  it's  lovely;  content 
To  live  or  to  die  as  its  folly  pleases: 
Life  is  a  rose  and  the  rose's  scent  — 
Love,  that  's  born  with  the  rose  —  nor  ceases. 

If  I  tell  you  the  Marquis  will  die,  will  you  smile? 
And  laugh  when  he  's  dead?  —  This  powder,  my  lily, 
That  shows  like  an  innocent  sweet  in  the  phial  — 
Do  not  touch  it!  breathe  distant!  —  a  poison  Exili 
Used  a  life  to  discover.     Its  formula  left 
(128) 


HIS  VIRST  MISTRESS.  129 


To  a  pupil,  (well  worthy  the  master!)  the  prudent 
And  pious  Sainte  Croix.  Him,  of  teacher  bereft, 
The  devil,  I  deem,  must  have  taken  as  student. 

Quite  a  dealer  in  death.     And  ours  was  a  case 
That  those  difficult  drugs  of  his  laboratory 
Demanded.     I  visited ;  found  him ;  his  face 
Bent  over  a  sublimate,  safe  from  the  hoary 
Light  particles,  masked  with  a  mask  of  fine  glass. 
I  told  him  your  danger,  Marie,  and  expounded 
Our  passion,  despair,  with  many  an  "alas!" 
He  smiled  while  a  paste  in  a  mortar  he  pounded. 

Three  fistfuls  of  Louis — he  'd  do  it,  he  said : 

A  delicate  dust,  "gum,  liquid  and  metal 

Crushed,  crucibled  — "  Stay !    tie  this  mask  on  your 

head ; 

You  see,  but  a  grain  on  this  fuchsia's  petal 
Has  shriveled  and  blasted  it — look  how  it  dries. 
A  perilous  pulver  .  .  .  could  Satan  make  better?  .  .  . 
To  mix  with  that  present  of  perfumes — she  dies, 
And  who  is  the  wiser?  Or,  say,  in  a  letter 


130  HIS  FIRST  MISTRESS. 


"To  the  husband  of  her  who  has  smiled  on  you  since 
Another  grows  bald  ?  " — And  he  poured  in  a  bottle 
The  subtlty. — "Bah!  be  he  beggar  or  prince, 
If  he  kiss  but  the  seal  the  venom  will  throttle." 
"Well,"  I  thought,  "I  will  test  ere  I  risk."     Slyly 

drew 

My  stilleto ;  approached  to  the  bandlet,  that  tightly 
Supported  his  mask,  its  keen  point — it  was  true : 
Where  it  cracked  he  fell  dead — he  but  breathed  of  it 

lightly. 

Your  letter  is  sealed  and  is  sent.     You  are  mine. 
By  now  he  has  broken  the  wax  ...  If  there  flutters 
Some  dust  in  his  nostrils,  yes,  who  will  divine 
That  this  has  assassined?  Our  alchemist  utters 
No  word! — you  are  happy?  and  I?— oh,  I  feel 
That  I  love  and  am  loved. — The  tidings  comes  heavy 
To-night  to  the  King;  you  are  there;  you  will  reel — 
Will  faint! — Now  away  to  the  royal  levee. 


BEFORE  THE  BALL. 

S  to  my  soul — 't  is  a  pathos  of  passion  ; 

As  to  my  life — has  a  flavor  of  sin. 
What  would  you  have  when  such  is  the  fashion 
Was  and  will  be  of  the  world  we  are  in? 
Yes,  I  have  loved— and  have  you  ?  have  you  reckoned 
The  cost  of  a  love?— I  can  tell  you:  as  much 
As  a  soul— Mine,  a  woman's:  I  learned  it  that  second 
I  knew  that  I  loved,  and  to  death  mine  were  such. 

And  his  love?  but  dissembled  that  ardor's  pure  beauty. 
I  endured  undeceived  nor  pretended;  and  gave 
All  that  the  wisdom  demanded— my  duty, 
For  I  loved.     And  the  world— why,  I  was  his  slave, — 
Should  it  worry  I  pleased  him?  Propriety  sorrowed, 
Uprolling  her  eyes  as  occasion  ;  she — well, 
A  lie  overglossed  with  a  modesty  borrowed. 
And  I  was  but  woman,  the  end  was — I  fell. 

l  131  ) 


BEFORE  THE  BALL. 


Through  love  ?  No ;  the  woman ;  that  visible  woman 
Men  usually  know.     Heart  knows  how  we  know 
Of  its  innermore  beauty,  the  luminous  human 
Distinction  that 's  character ! — Look  at  the  glow 
Of  the  moon  that  is  new;  'tis  the  slenderest  sickle 
Of  ray.     So  the  flesh  gleams  the  feeblest  line 
Of  light,  that's  the  soul;   should  the  sun  of  Love 

prickle, 
Mark,  the  whole  glory  of  woman  divine. 

Yes,  I  know  how  it  is.     I  have  glimmered  my  season 
Prolonged  of  suffusion.     You  think  it  is  strange 
That  I  let  you,  say — love  me ?  but  why  not?  my  reason 
Requires  illusions.     They  give  me  that  change 
Which  quiets  remembrance.     You  kiss  me,  I  wonder; 
When  you  say,  "You  are  beautiful,"  well,  am  I  glad 
If  I  laugh?  you  declaim  on  my  form,"  How  no  blunder 
Of  nature  discords,"  if  I  sigh  am  I  sad? 

How  you  stare  at  my  eyes!  and  my  lips — must  they 

languish 

For  kisses  to  redden  ?  My  eyes  must  be  bright 
As  this  jewel  I  drown  in  my  hair,  with  its  anguish 


BEFORE  THE  BALL.  133 


Of  tortuous  fire  that  quivers,  to-night. 

Tears  ?  may  be. — This  showy  ?  that  silly  white  flower 

Were  lovelier?  for  me  its  simplicity — no! 

The  gem  I  prefer  to  th'  exotic.     The  hour 

Has  struck:  I  am  ready:  my  fan:  let  us  go. 


MASKS. 

Oucullus  non  Jac.it  monachum. 

IVE  it  down  as  you  have  spoken 
You  could  live  it  ere  you  knew 
What  love  was — "  a  bauble  broken 
Foolish  of  a  thing  untrue."— 
You" Viola,  with  your  beauty 
Cloistered  die  a  nun !  No  ;  you — 
You  must  live,  and  'tis  your  duty. 

There's  your  poniard;  for  the  second 
In  this  tazza  dropped;  the  blood 
On  it  scarcely  hard.     I  reckoned 
Happily  that  hour  we  stood 
There  beside  your  palace  stairway, 
Cowled  with  my  Franciscan  hood, 
When  I  said  there  was  a  bare  way. 
(  134  ) 


MASKS.  135 


In  the  transept  there  I  found  it — 
Your  revenge.     I  saw  him  wild 
Stalking  to  the  church ;  around  it 
Dogged  him  marking  how  he  smiled 
In  the  moonlight  where  he  waited. 
When  the  great  clock  beating  dialed 
Ten,  I  knew  he  would  be  mated. 

Heaven  or  the  deed's  own  devil ! — 
Hardly  had  his  sword  and  plume 
Vanished  in  the  dusk,  than,  level 
On  the  Long  lagune,  did  loom 
Into  moonlight-woven  arches 
Her  slim  gondola;  all  gloom; 
One  swart  gondolier ;  no  torches. 

— Shadowy  gondolas  kept  bringing 
Revellers;  and  far  the  night 
Bang  with  merriment  and  singing. — 
From  the  imbricated  light 
Of  the  oar-vibrating  water, 
Gliding  up  the  stairway,  white, 
Velvet-masked — the  count's  own  daughter. 


136  MASKS. 

Quickly  met  her:   whispered,  "Flora, 

Gaston.— Mia,  till  they  go 

One  brief  moment  here,  Siora. 

She'll  perceive  us;  she  below 

With  the  duchess  diamonds  sparkling 

Round  the  inviolable  glow 

Of  her  throat— Must  pass  us  darkling; 

"'Tis  Viola!"— And  I  drew  her 
In  the  old  neglected  pile — 
Under  her  close  mask  I  knew  her, 
By  the  chin,  the  lips,  the  smile. 
Through  the  marble-foliated 
Window  fell  the  moonrays.     While 
All  the  maskers  passed  we  waited. 

I  had  drawn  the  dagger.     Turning 
Called  her  by  her  name.     Some  lie 
Of  a  passion  sighed;  her  burning 
Cheek  on  mine  when,  wavering  by, 
In  the  flare  his  form  bejeweled 
Gleamed.     My  very  blood  burned  dry 
With  the  hate  his  presence  fueled. 


MASKS.  13' 

My  revenge:  Up-pushing  slightly 
Cowl,  the  mask  fell  and  revealed 
Balka  as  the  poniard  whitely 
Flashed.     The  hollow  dark  re-pealed 
One  long  shriek  but  once  repeated. 
Yet,  I  stabbed  her  thrice.     She  reeled 
Dead.     I  thought  of  you.     The  heated 

Horror  on  my  hands,  I  tarried 

Like  the  silence.     Drawn  aside 

On  her  face  the  mask  hung  married 

To  her  camphor-pallor.     Wide 

Eyes  with  terror — stone.     One  second 

I  regretted,  then  defied 

All  remorse.     Your  beauty  beckoned, 

And  I  left  her.     You  had  pointed 
Me  this  way.     I  walked  the  way 
Clear-eyed  and  ...  it  has  anointed 
Us  fast  lovers?  will  you  say 
Yes?  or  for  no  love  go  nun  it? 
Let  this  cowled  love  grow  gray? — 
Learn  to  hate  him,  you  've  begun  it. 


HAUNTED. 


a  moon  when  night  comes  on 
*^     There  is  a  sighing  in  its  trees 
As  of  sad  lips  that  no  one  sees; 
And  the  strange  forest  dwindling,  large 
Beyond  fenced  fields,  seems  shadowy  drawn 
Into  its  shadows.     Faint  and  wan 
By  the  westeriaed  portico 
Stealing  I  go ; 

Through  gardens  where  the  weeds  are  rank; 
Where,  here  and  there  in  patch  and  bank, 
Rise  clumped  close  spiarees  whose  blooms 
Seem  dots  of  starlight;  and  the  four 
Syringas  sweet  heap,  powdered  o'er, 
Thin  flower-beakers  of  perfumes; 
And  the  dead  flowering-almond  tree 
(138) 


HAUNTED.  139 

Once  maiden-pink.     Still  bower  on  bower 
The  roses  climb  in  blushing  flower — 
And  from  the  roses  shall  I  see 
Her  sad,  sad  eyes  shine  like  the  flowers 
That  nestle  dew-drops  hours  on  hours, 
Wistful,  as  if  reproaching  me? 


When  midnight  comes  it  brings  a  moon  : 

A  scent  is  strewn 

Of  honey  and  wild-thorns  broadcast 

Beneath  the  stars.     When  I  have  passed 

Under  dark  cedars,  darker  pines, 

To  beds  of  red  petunias, 

Cornflower  and  blue  columbine; 

Azaleas  mauve  half-choked  with  grass, 

Wide  peonies  like  wisps  of  shine ; 

'Neath  cloying  honey-suckle  vines, 

Piled  deep  and  trammeled  with  the  gourd 

And  morning-glory ;  drained  the  hoard 

Of  rich  aroma ;  oft  have  heard 

The  plaintive  note  of  some  lost  bird 

Trickle  through  night,  awakened  where, 


140  HA  UNTP^D. 


'Neath  its  thick  lair  of  twisted  twigs, 
The  jarring  and  incessant  grigs 
Hummed.     Scent-drugged  so,  the  tepid  air 
Made  all  my  soul  as  heavy  as 
Dew-poppied  grass. 

in 

And  when  the  moon  rose  flushed  and  full, — 
Like  some  sea-seen  hesperian  pool, 
A  splash  of  gold  through  tangling  trees, — 
There  came  slow  sjglungs  in  the  trees 
As  of  sad  lips  that  no  one  sees. 
And  when  all  in  a  mystic  space 
Her  orb  swam,  amiable  white, 
Right  in  yon  shattered  casement  high, 
Made  of  a  whisper  and  a  sigh 
I  thought  her  face 

Formed  in  a  mist  of  tears;  so  slight, 
So  beautiful,  its  pensive  grace 
Was  like  an  olden  melody. 

IV 

I  know  long-angled  on  its  floors, 
Where  windows  greet  the  anxious  East, 


HA  UNTED.  141 

The  moonshine  pours 

White  squares  of  glitter  and,  at  least, 

Gives  glimmer  to  its  moaning  halls: 

Sleep-tapestried,  dim  corridores 

Wake  whispers ;  by  its  wasted  walls 

Stand  shadows ;  and  where  streaked  dusts  lay 

Their  undisturbed,  deep  gray, 

Walk  vision-footed.     I  below 

Hear  the  wind's  sighings  come  and  go 

Through  one  great  buckeye  near  her  room. — 

Ah  !  know  I  not  how  those  broad  flues 

Of  her  old  home  the  winds  make  hoarse? 

Their  deep  throats  growl  and  boom 

With  wafts  that  slink  through  avenues 

Of  summer,  singing  in  their  course 

Where  blossoms  drip,  to  swing  them  back. 

Oh!  how  I  fear  it!  and  the  crack 

Dry,  warping  stairs  give;  and  the  black 

That  drapes  each  room  the  mind  informs 

To  fling  from  closets  phantom  arms!  .  .  . 

V 

I  see  her  face  beseeching  pressed 
To  the  ruged,  oaken  floor ;  distressed, 
Pinched  in  her  blind  and  praying  hands ; 

10 


142  HAUNTED. 


So  desolate  with  anguish !  wrenched 
With  all  remorse  mind  understands: 
Weak,  writhen ;  still  I  scoffed  and  fled 
So  unrelenting !  when  again 
Back  soul-forgiving  stole,  fast-clenched 
In  staring  eyes  all  the  hard  pain, 
Cramped  to  dilation,  with  a  groan 
Found — huddled  hush — as  stone  as  stone, 
Her  white  and  dead !  .  .  . 

VI 

Yes,  there  is  moan 
In  all  its  crannies  and  lean  shades 
Make  melancholy  rooms  where  braids 
The  lacy  moonlight.     Slow  have  flown 
The  years!  the  years!  and  I  have  known 
An  anguish  and  remorse  far  worse 
Than  usual  life's,  and  live,  it  seems, 
Because  to  live  is  but  a  curse.  .  .  . 

VII 

There  lies  their  burying-place  ;  that  ground 
Arched  o'er  with  rusty  iron;  stone, 


HAUNTED.  143 


Mossy,  squares  in  a  spot  for  dreams. 
Wild  just  the  same;  its  roses  waste 
Limp,  placid  petals ;  and  here  some 
Lie  loose  like  puffs  of  foam 
On  bold  unhealthy  weeds;  displaced, 
Strew  wiltings  here  my  feet  around. 
Mad  roses  and  mad  thorns.     Here  moan 
In  Autumn  noons  gray  wood-doves,  and 
The  sad  days  slumber  bland. 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE. 

'OW  I  love  you!  do  you  know 

That  my  love  anticipated, 
Years  ago,  your  love  and  waited 
Fearful  of  no  No?  ... 

Dry  with  heat  and  hot  with  hay, 

Where  yon  strip  of  daisied  hollow 
Shady,  circling  beeches  follow 

Shall  we  wile  away 

What  half  hours  the  daylight  hath?— 
See,  the  hardy  harvest  makers 
Straighten,  reapers  red  and  rakers, 

O'er  the  last  mown  swath. 

Like  a  gold  flower  falls  the  sun  ; 

Tenuous  brightness  all  the  heaven 
By  the  subtle  weaver,  Even, 

One  rich  weft  is  spun  .... 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE.        145 

Why,  I  loved  you  from  the  time — 

You  remember,  do  you  not? — 

It  was  in  your  orchard-plot, 
I  was  reading  rhyme — 

No!  but  reading;  and  'twas  thus: 
"By  the  blue  Trinacrian  sea, 

Far  in  pastoral  Sicily 
With  Theocritus," 

When  you  asked  I  told  you  that 

Awkwardly ;  for  you  had  found 
Me  long-lounged  upon  the  ground 

Drowsily  a-chat 

With  the  sage — Boccaccio. 

And  I  thought  Lauretta  grew 

Tall  before  me ;  and  when  you 
Came  upon  me  so, 

Thought  it  was  she:  so  the  book 
Old  Decameron  in  calf, 
In  the  weeds  tossed  with  a  laugh, 

And  arose  to  look 


146        UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE. 

In  Lauretta's  eyes  and  thus — 

Found  them  yours.     Well,  was  I  red, 
When  the  tome's  name  asked,  I  said, 
"  It?— Theocritus." 

You  had  come  for  cherries;  these 
Ardently  I  climbed  for  while 
You  encouraged  with  a  smile 

Me  who  sought  to  please. 

Ah,  love,  two  short  years  agone! — 
t  I  shall  ne'er  forget  how  you 
In  that  dainty  dress  of  blue 
Muslin— No?— A  lawn?— 

•While  my  hand  unsparingly 

In  your  apron's  sag,  red-stained, 
Rich  the  juicy  ripeness  rained, 
Looked  beneath  that  tree. 

And  I  asked  you— for,  you  know, 
To  my  eyes  those  serious  eyes 
Held  such  true  philosophies  !— 

If  you  'd  read  Rousseau. 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE.   .147 


'His  Confessions?"— "No. "—"A  chance- 
Somewhat  similar  in  June, 
At  the  castle  quaint  of  Toune, 
Over  there  in  France, 

'Him  befell  and"— well,  was  it 

Gallant  then,  you  higher  dressed, 
Dropping  cherries  on  your  breast 
To  indulge  his  wit? 

May  I  kiss  those  lips  that  glow?— 

Look,  the  golden  gleam  has  narrowed 
To  one  rent  of  rose,  deep-arrowed 

Yonder — let  us  go. 


REVISITED. 


WTPLIFTED  darkness  and  the  owl-light  breaks, 

^   Scuds  the  wild  land  pursuing  patch  with  patch, 

As  when  deep  camomile  a  swift  wind  shakes. 

How  clumsily  I  raised  the  crazy  latch  !  .  .  . 

So. — When  yon  black  bulk,  light-absorbing,  rakes 

Again  the  moon's  bald  disk — 

Out;  and  the  storm  may  snatch 

Again  wet  hair  pulled  lank  with  wind  and  rain 

Two  hours  since.— There  sweeps  the  beams  again 

A  dark  cloud-besom  from  the  ragged  plain  .  .  . 

Now!  .  .  .  Soul,  be  thine  the  risk!  .  .  . 

II 

Close  to  the  fellside  hugs  the  bramble  hollow 
Whining  with  wind,  a  pausing  wind  that  grieves 

(148) 


REVISITED.  149 


Through  the  one  crippled  ash,  whose  nervous  leaves, 

Sleep-worried,  rattle  wooden  as  the  lips 

Of  dead  men  kissing.     There  a  gnarled  vine  slips 

Up  a  humped,  cloven  rock,  that  seems  to  wallow 

A  gorgon  head  of  ugly  wri things;  heaves 

When,  heaped  abruptly  on  it,  flare! 

Burst  rain  and  tempest-glare. — 

This  fled,  I  follow 

A  thorny  slip  of  path  until 

Is  passed  the  storm-scarred  hill. 

Ill 

Shall  I  not  then  be  breathless,  sinking  sense, 

For  ghastlier  yet  to  come  ? — No  !  sterner  strength 

Is  in  my  soul ! — Beyond  the  hill  the  dense, 

Dead  wood  remains  and  then — that  livid  length 

Of  mooning  waters  spectral  and  immense 

With  sullen  storm  and  night. 

There,  if  the  ghoulish  wind — 

Which  knows  well  as  I  know  how  I  have  sinned; 

— Will  cease  to  curse  me,  wakeful  in  its  spite, 

Disturbed  with  horror  only  of  my  soul, 

I'll  find  among  cramped  reeds,  the  storm  has  thinned, 


150  REVISITED. 


His  wide  white  eyes,  metallic  in  the  light 
Of  the  impassive  moon :  In  gusty  roll 
Of  washing  ripples,  webby,  slippery  locks 
Dabbling  and  dead :  Or  wedged  among  sharp  rocks, 
Wild-pinched  and  water-strangled  white, 
His  faded  face  that  mocks. 


LOST  LOVE. 

1  LOVED  her  madly.     For — so  wrought 
*     Young  Love  divining  isles  of  Truth 

Large  in  the  central  seas  of  Youth — 
"Love  will  be  loved,"  I  thought. 

Once  when  I  brought  a  rare  wild-pink 
To  place  among  her  plants,  the  wise, 
Still  guerdon  of  her  speaking  eyes 

Said  more  than  thanks,  I  think. 

Oh,  you  frail  Marguerita!  oh, 

Weak  woman  in  the  woman !  You 
Speak !  can  such  hearts  be  all  but  true 

To  hearts  that  love  them  so ! 

She  loved  another.     Ah  !  too  well 
I  have  the  story  in  my  soul! — 
A  weary  tale  the  weary  whole 

Of  how  she  loved  and  fell. 

i  151  ) 


152  LOST  LOVE. 


I  loved  her  so!  ...  Remembering  of 
My  mad  grief  then,  I  wonder  why 
It  is  such  griefs  grow  dull  and  die 

While  lives  still  live  and  love. 

Strange,  is  it  not?  For  grief  was  dear 
To  me  as  she  once.     A  regret 
It  is  now;  just  to  make  eyes  wet 

And  lift  a  big  lump  here. 

Yet,  had  she  lived  as  dead  in  shame 

As  now  in  death,  love  would  have  used 
Pride's  pitying  pencil  and  abused 

The  memory  of  her  name. 

This  makes  me  thank  my  God,  who  led 
My  broken  life  in  sunlight  of 
This  pure  affection,  that  my  love 

Lives  by  her  being  dead. 


LYANNA. 

fHE  Summer  came  over  the  southern  ocean, 
Girdled  with  fire,  tiaraed  with  light ; 
Laughter  her  eyes  and  her  lips  a  potion 

To  quaff,  to  kindle,  and  know  its  might; 
A  shadow  that  sparkled  and  flashed ;  a  motion 

Blushed  from  the  uttermost  South,  and  I, 
Of  the  race  of  the  Sylphs,  far  over  the  ocean 
Followed  her  up  the  sky. 

An  exile  aye  to  the  mists  that  muster, 
Pulsing  with  pearl  and  braided  with  blue, 

Large,  luminous  ghosts  in  the  hazy  bluster 
Low  of  the  winds,  where  my  brother-crew, 

(153) 


154  LYANNA. 


When  the  day  dreams  up,  in  their  bright  bands  cluster, 

Ranges  of  glitter  through  cloudy  gold, 
At  the  gates  of  the  Dawn,  whose  limbs  are  lustre, 
To  wait  till  her  gates  unfold. 

And  the  Summer  murmured  me  "Follow!  follow!" 
Whispered  and  promising  whispered,  "Love!"— 

Winged  with  the  wings  of  the  sweeping  swallow 
Followed  I  wings  of  the  drifting  dove: 

"Love,  and  a  mortal,"  and  fain  would  I  follow; 
"Love,  and  immortal,"  my  flight  was  strong; 

"Life!"  and  my  life  seemed  vain  and  hollow; 
"Love!"  and  my  heart  was  song. 

Fleet  as  the  winds  are  fleet,  yea,  and  fleeter 
Far  than  the  stars,  that  throbbed  like  foam 

Through  the  billowy  blue,  in  musical  meter 
Winnowed  our  wings;  and  the  golden  gloam 

Bang;  and  life  was  a  passion  completer 
Than  Edens  of  flowers;  and  faith  a  lyre 

That  sang  at  the  heart  to  make  hope  sweeter, 
And  hope,  a  leaping  fire. 


LYANNA.  155 


So  to  the  North  our  wings  went  maying 

Resonant  ways,  till  a  castle  shone 
Gaunt  on  great  cliffs,  and  the  late  skies  graying 

O'er  walls  of  war  and  its  towers  lone. 
A  fall  of  steps  to  the  sea  where  spraying 

Thundered  the  breakers;  and  terrace  and  stair, 
Rock  o'er  the  waters,  rose  rosy  and  raying 
Deep  in  the  sunset  glare. 

A  dew  drop  burns  when  the  dawn  lights  prickle; 

All  of  my  being  tingled  to  light, 
Blossomed  against  her  tarrying  fickle, 

White  on  the  terraced  height. 
Beauty  that  stood  like  a  moon  in  sickle, 

A  slender  moon  that  the  winds  bleach  bleak, 
With  its  hue  like  honeys  that  drop  and  trickle 
From  combs  whose  wax  is  weak. 

In  dreams  I  came  to  her,  lo !  as  a  vision  : 
Yea,  in  her  sleep  as  a  dream  was  wound : 

Of  her  vestal  chastity  held :  a  prison 

Her  innermost  spirit  that  took  and  bound. 


156  LYANNA. 


And  her  rest  I  stole,  for  sleep  in  derision 

Mocked  at  my  hope  for  a  love  that  slept: 
And  her  soul  I  awakened.     Lo!  it  had  risen 

And  answered  rny  soul  and  wept. 

"  Lyanna,  I  hoop  thee  with  arms  of  fire!  "- 

My  words  like  kisses  were  sparks  that  smote, — 

"  Lyanna,  my  life  is  a  single  wire, 
Thy  love  is  its  single  note. 

Hast  thou  known  me  thus?     Shall  it  sound  entire, 
Full  as  the  angels'  who  hover  and  harp 

To  the  glory  that's  God,  like  one  silver  lyre 

Borne  in  a  beam  that  is  sharp?  .  .  . 

"Gladdened  a  splendor  of  rose,  a  splendor 
Out  of  the  East  and  the  ruby  bloom 

Hiding — what,  love?    Two  eyes  that  are  tender? 
Two  lips  that  are  sweet,  and  limbs  of  perfume 

And  fragrant  fire  ?  And  who  was  the  sender 
To  thee  of  this  lover?"  And  bending  low 

Honeyed  my  speech  as  a  flower's  that,  slender, 
Buds  when  the  wild  stars  blow. 


LYANNA.  157 


Seemed  all  her  passionate  pulses  to  quicken ; 

Flowed  all  her  soul  to  her  eyes;  but  Sleep 
Trembled  her  voice  so  it  seemed  to  thicken 

With  a  love  that  was  sighing  to  weep : — 
"  Yea,  I  divined  thee,  yea,  and  was  stricken ; 

Light  was  thy  messenger-dove  of  love. 

Alas!  I  divined,  and  I  seemed  to  sicken, 

To  perish  and  pine  thereof. 

"  White  are  the  clouds,  but  I  knew  thee  whiter 
Than  dazzling  domes  of  the  Dawn,  I  knew; 

Bright  are  God's  stars,  but  thine  eyes  were  brighter, 
Brighter  and  burning  blue. 

And  my  love  was  thine,  though  it  held  thee  slighter 
Than  breezes  bruiting  it  murmuring  by  ; 

And  waited  and  yearned  and  the  yearning  tighter 
Than  tears  in  the  hearts  that  die. 

"'Lyanna!  Lyanna!'  thou  calledst  ever: 
'  Lyanna ! '  A  ripple  of  rays  that  came  : 

1  Lyanna,  thy  name  is  like  light  forever! ' 
And  I  marveled  at  mv  name. 


158  LYANNA. 


For  the  word  was  such  as  if  stars  should  sever 

To  an  utterance  slow  of  syllabled  beams; 
'Lyanna!  Lyanna!'  I  turned,  but  never 

Informed  thee  more  than  my  dreams. 

"Thou  walkedst  a  beauty  afar;  a  glitter 

Of  gleaming  aroma  ;  and  I  amoan 
Flung  thee  mine  arms ;  and  thy  gaze  was  bitter 

Was  calmer  and  sterner  than  stone  ; 
Avoiding  thou  passedst  in  scorn.     Oh,  fitter 

The  hate  of  all  heaven  to  me  than  this ! 
Yea,  scorn ! — and  I  wept,  when  oh !  a  flitter 

Of  fire,  a  laugh,  and  a  kiss."  .  .  . 

So  I  won  her  then.     And  the  lungs  of  the  thunder 
Trumpeted  tempest;  and  dark  the  seas 

Lunged  at  the  walls  like  a  roaring  wonder, 
And  the  black  rain  buzzed  like  bees. 

"Lyanna,  my  bride!"  And  the  heavens  asunder 
Rushed — chasms  of  glaring  storm  where  ran 

The  thunder's  cataracts  rolling  under — 

For,  behold,  her  race  was  man. 


LYANNA.  159 


Mine,  of  the  elements.     At  the  moth-white  portal 
Of  dreams  stood  the  soul  with  her  name.     I  saw 
Lyanna  and  said,  "  Of  the  utterly  mortal 

Mine  the  eternal  lot  and  law ! — 
Thou  lovest  me?" — "Oh!  and  I  love  thee !"— "Immortal 
Is  mine  through  thy  love, — for  thou  lovest! " — 'Tis 

said, 

Behold !  when  they  came  in  the  morn,  a-startle 
Were  lips  with,  "  Lyanna  is  dead !  " 


GLORAMONE. 

E  moonbeams  on  the  hollies  glow 
Pale  where  she  left  me ;  and  the  snow 
Lies  bleak  as  moonshine  on  the  graves, 
Ribbed  with  each  gust  that  shakes  and.' waves 
Ancestral  cedars  by  her  tomb. 

She  was  more  beautiful  for  death 

In  death's  dim  loveliness.     The  gloom, 

The  iciness  that  takes  the  breath, 

The  sense  of  worms,  were  not  too  strong 

To  keep  me  from  beholding  long. 

I  stole  into  the  mystery  of 
Her  old,  armorial  tomb ;  and  Love 
Sighed  all  its  romance  in  my  heart : 
( 160  ) 


GLORAMONE.  161 


Soft  indistinctness  of  pale  lips 
Breathed  on  my  hair;  faint  finger  tips 
Fluttered  their  starlight  on  my  brow; 
Vague  kisses  on  my  eyes  and  now, 
Hard  on  my  lips,  an  aching  sense 
Of  vampire  winning.     And  I  heard 
Her  name  slow-syllabled — a  word 
Of  haunting  harmony — and  then 
Low-throated,  "Thou  !  at  last,  'tis  thou! ;' 
And  far  off  shadowy  sighs  again. 

How  madly  strange  that  this  should  be ! 
For,  had  she  loved  me  when  of  earth, 
It  were  not  now  so  marvelous, 
So  marvelous  remembering  me 
With  dead  for  living  love,  though  worth 
Less,  yes,  far  less  to  both  of  us. 
And  long  I  wondered  listening  there, 
1  What  deed  of  mine  or  thought  hath  wrought 
This  love  from  hate  in  after-life 
She  giveth  back?"  and  everywhere 
Around  my  life  I  thought  and  thought 
And — nothing;  only,  how  my  love 


162  GLORAMONE. 


Had  still  persisted  for  her  hate 
That  made  her  Appolonio's  wife. 
Her  hate!  her  lovely  hate!— for  of 
Her  naught  I  found  unlovely — and 
I  felt  she  did  not  understand 
My  passion,  so  'twere  well  to  wait. 

And  now  I  knew  her  presence  near, 
I  full  in  life ;  yet  had  no  fear 
There  in  the  sombre  silence,  mark. 
And  it  was  dark,  yes,  deathful  dark : 
But  when  I  slowly  drew  away 
The  pall,  death  modeled  with  her  face, — 
From  face  and  limbs  it  fell  and  lay 
Rich  in  the  dust, — the  shrouded  place 
Was  glittering  daggered  by  the  spark 
Of  one  rare  ruby  at  her  throat, 
Red-hearted  with  star-arrowy  throbs 
That  made  it  pulse.     And  note  on  note 
The  blackness  fought  with  finest  sobs 
Of  glimmering  as  of  that  stone. 
Lustrous  and  large  against  her  throat 
As  her  large  eyes  when  they  could  see. 


GLORAMONE.  163 


And  standing  by  her  corpse  alone 
I  doubted  not  her  loving  me. 

Red  essence  of  an  hundred  stars 

In  fretful  crimson  through  and  through 

Its  bezels  beat,  when,  bending  down, 

My  hot  lips  kissed  her  heart.     And  scars 

Of  veiny  scarlet  and  of  blue, 

Flame-hearted,  blurred  the  midnight  and 

The  vault  rang;  and  I  felt  her  hand 

Like  fire  in  mine.     And,  lo,  a  frown 

Broke  up  her  face  as  gently  as 

A  breeze  that  jolts  the  graining  grass 

And  spills  its  rain-drops.     When  this  passed, 

Through  song-soft  slumber  binding  fast, 

Slow  smiles  dreamed  outward  beautiful, 

And  with  each  smile  I  heard  the  dull 

Deep  music  of  her  heart  and  saw, 

As  by  some  necromantic  law, 

Faint  tremblings  of  a  lubric  light 

Float  through  white  temples  and  white  throat; 

And  each  long  pulse  was  as  a  note, 

That  gathering,  like  a  strong  surprise 


164  GLORAMONE. 


With  all  its  happiness,  again 
Left  her  arch  lips  one  wistful  smile 
That  lingered  languidly.     Yet  pain 
Slept  'neath  her  eyelids,  wasted  white, 
Insufferable.  .  .  .  Did  those  eyes 
Grow  wide  unto  my  kisses? — Yea, 
They  were  unsealed!     And  all  the  fire 
Of  that  dark  ruby  at  her  throat, 
Arrow  by  arrow,  in  them  smote; 
And  as  some  harmony  entire 
Was  she,  but  how,  I  can  not  say. 

And  forth  into  the  night  I  brought 
Her  beautiful,  and  o'er  the  snow, 
Where  moonbeams  on  the  hollies  glow, 
I  led  her.     And  her  feet  no  print. 
No  lightest  trace  in  frost,  no  dint 
Left  of  their  nakedness;     I  thought, 
"The  moonlight  fills  them  with  its  glow 
And  covers;  and  the  tomb  was  black, 
Then  this  strong  light — yes!"  turning  back 
My  eyes  met  hers;  and  as  I  turned, 
Flashing  centupled  facets,  burned 


G  LOR  AM  ONE.  165 


That  red  gem  at  her  throat;  and  I 
Pondered  its  ardor  for  a  while  : 
How  came  it  there,  and  when,  and  why? 
Who  set  it  at  her  throat?  again, 
Why  was  it  there?     So  studying 
I  questioned.     And  a  far,  strange  smile 
Filled  all  her  face,  and  secret  pain 
Gave  to  her  words  a  bitter  ring : 
"Thou  !  thou  !  alas !  "  she  said  and  sighed 
"And  if  I  am  not  dead,  'twas  thou! 
Canst  thou  remember  of  it  now?" 
"Yes."     And  she  leaned  unto  me,  eyed 
Like  some  wise  serpent  that  hath  still 
Lain  all  night  on  wild  rocks  to  stare 
At  amaranthine  stars  until 
Its  eyes  have  learned  their  glassy  glare. 

And  then  I  took  her  by  the  wrists 
And  drew  her  to  me.     Faintly  felt 
The  sorrow  of  her  hair,  whose  mists 
Fell  twilight-deep  and  dimly  smelt 
Still  of  the  worm  and  tomb.     And  she 
Smiled  on  me  with  such  sorcerv 


166  QLORAMONE. 


As  well  might  win  a  soul  from  God 

To  fiends  and  furies.     And  I  trod 

On  white  enchantments  and  was  long 

A  song  and  harp-string  to  a  song, 

Love's  battle  in  my  blood.     And  there, 

Kissing  her  throat,  her  mouth,  her  hair, 

I  stole  the  jewel  from  her  throat 

With  crafty  fingers,  to  admire 

The  witchcraft  of  its  fevered  fire. 

It  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand 

A  rosy  spasm  seemed  to  float 

Red,  red  with  anger:  then  a  brand 

Touched  scorching,  and  I  felt  it  run 

Swift  in  my  pulses  like  a  sun 

Of  torrid  poison.     And  I  marked 

My  palm  brim  full  with  blood;  a-glow 

Big  drops  globed  beadings,  oozing  slow, 

Like  holly-berries,  on  the  snow. 

Then  all  the  night  contracting  darked 

Upon  me  and  I  heard  a  sigh, 

So  like  a  moan,  't  was  as  if  years 

Of  anguish  bore  it;  and  the  sky 

Swam  near  me  as  when  seen  through  tears. 


GLOHAMONE.  167 


And  she  was  gone.     In  ghostly  gloom 
Of  swart,  scarred  pines  a  crumbling  tomb 
Loomed  like  a  mist.     Carved  in  its  stone, 
Above  the  grated  portal  deep, 
Glimmered  the  legend  of  her  sleep, 
"  Death  crowned  with  Death  one,  Gloramone." 


THE  CAVERNS  OF  KAF. 

[LOVE  SENSUAL.] 

/|\NE  Benreddin,  I  have  heard, 

^^     Near  the  town  of  Mosul  sleeping, 

In  a  dream  beheld  a  bird 

Wonderful  with  plumes  of  sweeping 
Azure  crowned  pomegranate-red. 
Seeming  near  him,  while  it  fled 
Brilliant  as  a  blossom,  peeping 
Down  the  Tigris  him  it  led. 

Following,  the  creature  came 
To  a  haggard  valley,  shouldered 

Under  peaks  that  had  no  name, 

Where  it  vanished :  on  the  bouldered 
(168) 


THE  CAVERNS  OF  KAF.  169 


Savageness  a  woman  fair 
In  a  white  simarre  rose  there, 
Beckoning;  around  her  smouldered 
Pensive  lights  of  purple  air. 

Then  he  found  himself  in  vast 
Caves  of  sardonyx,  whose  ceiling 

Domed  one  chrysoberyl.  Blast 
In  blast  of  music,  stealing 

From  an  aural  glory,  nears; 

Waxing  on  his  eager  ears, 

Far  recedes  in  clashes  pealing 

Psalteries  and  dulcimers. 

Wildly  sculptured  walls  did  heave 
Slabs  of  story,  where,  embattled, 
Warred  Amshaspand  and  the  Deev ; 

Over  all  two  splendors  rattled 
Arms  of  heaven,  arms  of  hell; 
Forms  of  flame  that  seemed  to  swell 
Godlike  :  Aherman  who  battled 
With  Ormnzd  he  might  not  quell. 


170  THE  CA  VERNS  OF  KAF. 


And  Benreddin  wondered  till 

The  reverberant  rapture  drifting, 
Strong  beyond  his  utmost  will, 

Rolled  him  onward  where,  high  lifting 
Pillar  and  entablature, 
Vast  with  emblem,  yawned  a  door- 
Valves  of  liquid  lightning  shifting 
In  and  out  and  up  and  o'er  .  .  . 

Walls  of  serpentine  deep-domed 
Gray  with  agate  and  with  beryl ; 

Tortuous  diaper  crusted  foamed 
Rough  with  jewels;  and  as  peril 

Difficult  a  colonnade 

Ran  of  satin-spar  to  fade 

Far  in  labyrinths  of  sterile 

Tiger-eye  that  twisting  grayed. 

Dizzy  stones  of  magic  price 

Crammed  volute  and  loaded  corbel ; 
Iridescent  shafts  of  ice 

Leapt:  with  long  reechoed  warble 


THE  CAVERNS  OF  KAF.  171 


Waters  unto  waters  sang; 
Curling  arc  and  column  sprang 
Into  fire  as  each  marble 
Fountain  flung  its  drift  that  rang. 

And  against  him,  filled  with  sound, 

Surfs  of  resonant  colors  jetted ; 
Sun-circumferences  that  wound 

Out  of  arcades  crescent-fretted, 
Mists  of  citron  and  of  roon, 
Lemon  lights  that  mocked  the  moon, 
Shot  with  scarlet  veined  and  netted, 
Beating  golden  hearts  of  tune. 

Discs  of  rose-nasturtium; 

Orbs  of  down-dilating  splendor ; 
In  whose  cores  did  slowly  come 

Spots  like  serpent  eyes  that  slender 
Glared  with  undecided  beams ; 
Panting  through  dissolving  gleams 
Hissings  of  clear  fire  tender 
As  an  houri's  breath  who  dreams. 


172  THE  CAVERNS  OF  KAF. 


Characters  of  Arabic, 

Cabalistic,  red  as  coral. 
Through  vague  violet  veils  did  prick 

Changing ;  as  if  fierce  at  quarrel 
Iran  wrote  of  Turan  there 
Hate  and  scorn,  or  everywhere 
Wrought  swift  talisman  and  moral 
Stern  the  Afrits  might  not  dare. 

Sunset  splendors  drew  him  on 
To  a  cavern's  crystal  hollow, 
Hewn  of  alabaster  wan, 

Lucid,  whence  his  gaze  could  follow 
Far  transparent  flights  in  flights 
Boiling,  drowned  in  sounding  lights 
Glaucous  gold  ;  he  like  some  swallow 
O'er  a  lake  the  morning  smites. 

Curved  the  vault  mosaiced  in 

With  the  sensuous  limbs  of  Peries: 

Restless  eyes  of  Deevs  and  Jinn 

In  the  walls  watched.     Unseen  faeries 


THE  CA  VERNS  OF  KAF. 


From  the  dim  dome  rained  and  tossed 
Flowers  of  fire  full  of  frost, 
Flowers  of  frost  a  fire  that  carries 
Smoldering  an  incense  lost. 

Through  the  air,  in  groups  of  grace, 
Naked  odalisques  of  heaven 

Of  Arabian  gold  did  lace 

Flaming  censers,  spouting  seven 

Jets  of  burning  perfume  green  ; 

To  each  globe  of  garnet,  seen 

As  it  swung,  new  form  was  given 

Hippogrif  or  rosmarine. 

Aloes,  nard  and  ambergris ; 

Saffron,  cinnamon  and  civet; 
All  aromas  strange  that  kiss 

Sense  with  scent  and  hold  and  rivet 
Soul  to  soul, — that  have  grown  dull 
With  life's  lassitude,— to  lull, 
These  with  amorous  hands  did  give  it, 
Vaporous  and  beautiful. 
12 


174  THE  CAVERNS  OF  KAF. 


And  Benreddin's  passive  soul, 

To  hot  eyes  intoxicated, 
Ached.     And  sucking  at  the  whole 

Nipple  of  flushed  Pleasure,  sated 
Sucked  unsatisfied.     It  saw 
Cheeks  of  light  without  a  flaw; 
Breasts  of  bloom  with  breathings  bated 
Limbs  translucent  nearer  draw. 

Houri  eyes  and  wafted  hair 

Brilliant  blackness.     Then  a  thunder 
Of  hoarse  music,  that  did  bear 

Upward,  organed  in  the  under 
Caverns  of  the  demon  world. 
Koran  scrolls  in  glisten  curled 
Sparkling  by  him  ;  and  a  wonder 
Of  ccerulean  mottoes  swirled. 

Then  one  long  note  made  of  sighs, — 

A  muezzin  cry  repeated 
Dying  downward,— filled  with  eyes,— 

Melting  from  him,— passion-heated ; 


THE  CAVERNS  OF  KAF.  175 


Saddening  into  sounds  of  spray 
Choral.     Then  one  rocking  ray 
Angry  burned  and  angry  fleeted 
From  intensest  blood  to  gray.  .  .  . 

And,  't  is  told,  this  life  was  young, 

Young  that  sun-dawn.    When  the  darting, 

Anguish-throated  bulbuls  sung, 
Through  the  silent  starlight  starting, 

One,  a  Baghdad  merchant,  led 

By  the  white  light  on  its  head, 

Found  a  hoary  shadow.     Parting 

Hair  from  face,  Benreddin — dead. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  VAN. 

[LOVE  IDEAL.] 

7$f  IDSUMMER-NIGHT;  the  Van ;  through  night's 
V®*-         wan  noon, 

Wading  the  storm-scud  of  an  eve  of  storm, 
Pale  o'er  Carmarthen's  peaks  the  mounting  moon. 

Hills  of  Carmarthen !  sullen  heights  that  swarm 
Girdling  lone  waters  as  gaunt  wizards  might 

Crouch  guarding  some  enchanted  gem  of  charm — 
Hills  of  Carmarthen,  that  for  me  each  night 

Reecho  prayers  and  pleadings  one  long  year 
Unanswered,  made  to  listening  waters  white! — 

The  bitter  blue  of  Winter,  and  the  clear 
Calm  eyes  of  girlish  Springtide,  and  the  slow 

Brown  gaze  of  languid  Summer,  and  the  cheer, 
Bleak-eyed,  of  tristful  Autumn  saw  me  so, 

Unhappy,  lost  among  the  hollow  hills. 
(176) 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE   VAN.  Ill 

Should  any  ripple  tremble  into  glow, 

When   yeasty  moonshine   sprays  the  foam,   there 

thrills 
Heart's  expectation  through  fleet  veins  and  high 

"Tis  she!"  each  pulse  with  exultation  shrills. 
But  'tis  not — never!     Once  .  .  .  and  then  would  I 

Had  lain  abolished  so  beholding!  .  .  .  World, 
What  sadder  hast  than  beauty  that  must  die  ? — 

Drugged  so  with  beauty,  if  some  fiend  had  curled 
Stiff  talons  through  long  hair,  and  twisting  tight, 

Scoffed, "  Burn  and  be !  "  launch  into  hell  had  hurled 
Me  satisfied  to  happiness — Love's  white 

Bloom  heavenizing  hell — I,  unamerced, 
Shackled  with  tortures,  well  might  mock  hell's  spite. 
— Immortal  memory  of  light,  I  thirst! 
O  shining  star-stain  to  what  being  wove, 

In  that  I  love  thee  am  I  so  accursed? 
Oh,  make  me  mad  with  love,  with  all  thy  love! 

Who  bruit  it  to  these  wilds  when  midnights  gloom 
Storms  or  drip  gold  the  sibylline  stars  above ; — 

When  thy  high  favors  all  heaven's  wealth  consume, 
Foil  to  thy  potent  presence, — and  make  mad 

Me  with  a  madness  sick  as  from  perfume. 


178  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE   VAN. 

Sleep  may  I  not  now  for  soft  sleep  is  sad. 

Cheated  of  thee,  sad  are  all  tearful  dreams, 
Haunted  by  shining  sorrowings  unclad. — 

Strange,  tyrannous  hope  in  life  that  only  seems! 
And  seeming  hope  forever  needs  must  pine 

Hugging  this  vanishment  of  form-fixed  beams! — 
Though  thou  be  wrought  from  elements  divine, 

And  I  crass  earth  exalted,  which  will  think, 
"  Since  I  am  thine  this  makes  me  hope  thee  mine," 

Must  I,  its  usual  phantom,  the  still  brink 
Of  thy  lone  lake  bewilder  nightly?     Yearn  - 

Toward  that  vast  vision  of  a  moment's  wink? 
When,  glassing  out  great  circles,  which  did  urn 

Some  intense  essence  of  interior  light, — 
As  clouds  that  clothe  the  moon  unbinding  burn, 

Ruptured,  stands  forth  her  orb,  triumphant  white,— 
Middle  the  Van  churned  foam  like  feathering  fire, 

Dilating  ivory.     Expectant  night 
Tip-toed  attentive,  fearful  to  suspire; 

And  there  up-soared— what  glittering  majesty? 
What  goddess  sensed  with  glory  and  desire? 

One  instant's  moiety  whirled  up  to  be — 
Lo ve !  and  sucked  down  where  burst  a  brassy  black 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE   VAN.  179 


O'er  cloven  waves  that  sighed  for  ecstacy. 
In  multifarious  colors  swallowed  back — 

Pale  pearl  and  lilac,  asphodel  and  rose, 
Tempestuous  crocus  curling  crack  in  crack. 

And  I  alone  to  marvel  as  who  knows 
He  is  not  dead  and  yet  it  seems  he  is, 

Tranced  but  in  body  while  the  spirit  glows. — 
O  world-sweet  face!  brow  one  wide  angel  kiss! 

High  immortality! — to  image  such 
Dance  starlight  in  a  lily's  loveliness. — 

Waste-bound  with  moony  gold,  too  gross  to  clutch 
Such  queening  chastity,  though  clear  as  gum 

On  almugs  globed  and  fragrance  to  the  touch  : 
And  hair — not  hair!  lithe  rays  that  seemed  to  come 

Strained  through  the  bubble  of  a  chrysolite, 
Soft  quiverings  of  light  that  clung  and  clomb.          . 

Such  left  me  such ;  deep  on  my  soul's  quick  sight 
Eternal  seared ;  my  life — a  stealing  shade 

Scouting  the  day  and  ardent  of  the  night: 
A  raver  to  the  hoary  hills  which  laid 

Their  dumb  society  in  ruth  on  who 
Shunned  all  companionship  of  man  and  maid: 


180  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  VAN. 


Boon  comrade  of  the  mountain  blossoms  blue : 
Instructed  intimate  of  trees  that  they — 

Wise  as  the  legendary  world  that  drew 
Oracles  from  lips  ihr  oaks — might,  haply,  say 

Prophetic  precepts  to  me :  how  were  won 
A  spirit  loved  to  love  an  one  of  clay : 

In  vain. 

When  one  day,  log-like  in  the  sun 
Beside  his  cave,  where  twisted  mandrakes  rank, 

Puce,  hairy  henbane  coppery  blossoms  spun, 
Wrinkled  as  Magic,  I  a  grizzled,  lank 

Squat  something  startled;  naught  save  skin  and  hair; 
^With  eyes  wherein  two  demons  brewed  and  drank      • 

Disputing  dreams,  which  made  them  shrink  or  glare  ; 
Familiars  who.  beholding  me  draw  near, 

Croaked  lips  of  famine,  lean  fangs  grinning  bare, 
"Woo  her  with  combs  of  running  honey  clear, 

And  white  loaves  of  a  seven-times  bolted  wheat. 
Climb  to  thy  love  and  crawl!  fear  not  and  fear! " 

This  have  I  done  these  many  months.     Repeat 
Vows  low-lipped  sunk  with  passionate  offering 
Of  loaves  o'erbolted,  honey  seven-times-sweet. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE   VAN.  181 

Still  woe  and  woe  is  mine.     Now  I  but  bring 

My  simple  self  'to-night,  ungifted,  see ; 
Myself  unto  thee ! — Shall  this  clay  still  cling 

Clogging  fulfillment?  thy  love  s  mastery 
Be  balked  by  flesh  ?    No ! — plunge  it  deep  and  fly 

Down  to  thy  mounted  throne  of  majesty! 
Gathering  bright  limbs  one  splendid  instant — die 

To  epochs  o'  th'  elements !  for  one  kiss 
Forfeit  this  human  immortality! 

Breathe  with  thy  breathing  waters,  laugh  and  hiss 
Where  lion-tawnyness  extending  creeps 

Orb  into  disc  there  'round  thy  templed  bliss! 
•Dream,  dream  o'er  wave-blue  lazuli  which  heaps, 

Rude-hewn,  rough,  rugged  turret,  wall,  and  dome, 
Thy  glaucous  chambers  where  the  green  day  sleeps ! 

Dead  not  with  death  ! — 

What  secrets  hath  thy  home 
Not  mine  then  storied  in  exultant  foam ! — 
Deeper,  down  deeper !  mark  me,  yea,  I  come ! 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR. 
[LOVE  SPIRITUAL.] 


is  love  for  love  ;  the  heaven 
Teems  with  possibilities  ; 
Earth  has  such  as  heaven  has  given, 

Earth  and  all  her  sister  seas. 
Heaven  and  earth  and  sea  is  gladder 
For  it  ;  only  man  is  sadder, 
Waxing  wise  in  night  for  driven 
Drift  of  light  he  never  sees. 

There  are  lives  for  lives  ;  and  beauty 
Born  for  beauty  ;  for  your  earth 

Faith  celestial  given  as  booty 
To  mortality  of  worth  ; 

(182) 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR.  183 


Song  for  every  song;  unfolding 
Hope  for  dying  hope ;  a  holding 
Duty  towards  aspiring  duty 
Godly  as  the  laws  of  birth. 

Earth  and  ocean  are  prolific 
Of  wild  wonders  as  our  sky; 

With  fine  shapes  of  fair,  terrific, 
Who,  if  loved, ~shall  never  die: 

Demons  rugged  as  their  mountains ; 

Spirits  sunny  as  their  fountains ; 

Sylphids  of  the  wind  pacific 
As  the  stars  they  tremble  by. 

I  was  lonely  ;  long  had  waited 

For  the  sweet  eternal  sleep ; 
Watching  where  the  worlds  dilated, 

Waned  or  wasted  in  the  deep. 
Where  beneath  my  star  a  planet 
Whirled  and  shone  like  glowing  granite, 
While  around  it  swung  and  grated 

Orbs  of  fire  sweep  in  sweep. 


184  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR. 


I  was  sad ;  the  silence  wilted 

On  me  like  n  scentless  bud 
Fading  ere  it  blows.     The  quilted 

Clouds,  like  bursts  of  beating  blood, 
Streamed  beneath  me ;  and  the  starry 
Still  serene  above  bent  barry, — 
Thick  with  golden  splashes  tilted, — 

Seemed  with  arms  of  angels  strewed. 

I  was  loveless  with  a  yearning 
After  love  that  never  came ; 

All/ny  being's  fineness  burning 
Outward,  to  no  blushing  shame 

Immolated  ;  but  a  splendor 

Of  intention  that  was  tender 

To  compulsion;  all  returning 
On  my  love  with  fiercer  flame. 

So  I  left  the  stars  whose  lances 
Shook  their  arrowy  gold  in  heat 

Of  hard  hyacinth ;  the  glances 
Of  their  million  moony  feet 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR.  185 


Eanged  about  me  leaving.     Beating 
Downward,  left  them  still  repeating 
Far  farewells ;  the  trembling  trances 
Of  their  white  eyes  falling  sweet. 

Came  unto  your  moon ;  vast  alleys 
Of  white  jasper  cleaving  hills 

Of  chalcedony,  whose  valleys 
Cataracting  crystal  fills. 

Twixt  two  mountains — like  a  vision 

Seen  through  jewel-gates  Elysian — 

Growing  as  a  music  dallies 

Into  forms  of  dreams  it  thrill?, — 

Long  walls  rose  of  beaming  nacre 
Cloudy;  coiling  peace  around 

Acre  upon  arching  acre 
Of  a  city  without  bound: 

Caryatids  alternated 

With  Atlantes  sculpture- weighted ; 

And  its  gates — some  god  the  maker — 
Leaves  of  symboled  diamond. 


186  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR. 


In  the  pure  light  rocking,  swimming 
Domes  of  dazzle  swirl  on  swirl, 

Lifted  columned  temples  brimming 
Oval  roofs  of  silver  curl ; 

Galleries  of  spar  that  sparkled  ; 

Pillared  palaces  that  darkled 

Moonstone,  opal ;  and,  far  dimming, 
Aqueducts  of  ghostly  pearl. 

Streaming  steeples  sharp  of  dsedal 

Emblem,  each  an  obelisk 
Wrought  of  lividness,  whose  needle 

Balanced  bubble,  crescent,  disc ; 
Some  of  diamond,  like  a  blister 
Frozen ;  some  of  topaz,  glister 
Vinous;  and  each  burning  middle 

Dazzled  like  the  eyes  of  Risk. 

Still  I  left  it  and  descended 

Worldward.     For  the  longing  drew 
Me,  and  drawing  me  was  blended 

With  your  Earth  I  never  knew. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR.  187 


And  did  star  and  moon  forsake  me, 
I  had  answered  what  did  take  me 
Worldward,  where  it  lay  a  splendid 
Blossom  in  a  sea  of  dew. 

And  when  night  came,  lo,  above  you 

Sleeping  by  your  folded  sheep, 
O'er  the  hills  I  rose  ;  to  love  you 

Came,  and  kissed  you  in  your  sleep. 
And  the  destinies  had  brought  it 
So  I  told  you,  you  who  thought  it 
Not  so  strange  that  I  should  love  you, 
I  a  spirit  of  the  deep. 

Ah,  you  knew  how  she  had  found  you 
Sometime  in  some  life  not  sad; 

Won  your  soul  to  here  and  bound  you 
With  chaste  kisses  that  were  glad. 

Days  forget,  but  nights  remember; 

And  my  love  shall  live  an  ember 

In  you  when  the  world  around  you 
Scoffs  at  this  as  one  who  's  mad : 


188  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STAR. 


Idol  Beauty !  be  one  petal 

To  its  passion-flower !  far 
Past  Earth's  ignorance — a  metal 

Rusting  that  reflects  no  star ! — 
Live  beyond  men  lest  they  shame  you ! 
Lest  their  shame,  not  I,  should  blame  you ! 
Dream !  and  when  the  shadows  settle, 

%  Be  the  dream  you  dream  you  are ! 


AT  NINEVEH. 

was  that  Syrian  slave  who  loved  a  king 
"  Assyrian,  with  love  that  lived  to  hold 
11  No  hope  beyond  the  madness  of  the  thing." 

And  she  was  beautiful  as  noons  of  gold  ; 

And  amorous  as  nights  that  swoon  their  stars 
O'er  lands  of  romance.     And  the  tale  is  told 

How,  clad  with  day,  between  ranked  warriors 

Steel-lustrous,  down  the  hall  of  audience, 
'Mid  pillared  trophies  of  barbaric  wars, 

She  came  unto  his  throne  and  asked,  "  Lord,  whence 

Is  love  and  why?"    He,  musing  on  her,  said : 
"O  slave,  man's  love  lies  with  the  gods  and  hence, 
13  ( 189  ) 


190  AT  NINEVEH. 


"Divine,  is  known  but  of  the  Spirithead.  [why, 

'Why?'  dost  thou  question?  there!  we  know  not 
Unless  't  is  love  which  makes  us  deathless  dead." 

Smiled ;  and  the  woman  passioning  each  eye 

With  all  the  love  that  stammered  in  her  blood, 
Dumb  with  wild  language,  clasped  her  hands  on  high, 

And  in  her  veiling  hair  knelt,  sobbing:  "Good, 

O  king,  thy  answer!  for,  behold,  I  love! — 
What  freak  of  fate  hath  set  this  bitter  brood, 

"  Urned  dusts  of  kings,  between  this  love,  whereof 

The  rubric  reads,  '  The  ashes  of  your  dead 
Shall  shriek  dishonored,'  yet  I  dare"  .  .  .  "Enough  !  " 

He,  motioning.     Then  for  a  second  fed 

His  gaze  along  her  faultless  form  and  face, 
Pointing  cried,  "Ehana!  strike  me  off  her  head!  " 

A  tall  deep-chested  slave  with  tawny  grace 

Strode  at  the  mandate  from  the  press.     A  form 
Royally  favored.     Deep  a  night-dark  lace, 


AT  NINEVEH.  191 


Her  thick  hair  twisting  to  one  supple  arm, 

Flashed  broad  a  blade  the  other.     Kising  shone 
With  light  the  swift  death — fell ;  and  dripping  warm 

Lifting  the  head  he  stood  before  the  throne. 

And  he  who  scowled  there,  "By  the  gods,  't  is  well ! 
When  slaves  begin  to  babble  "—As  hewn  stone 

Stern  stood  the  slave,  a  son  of  Israel. 

Then  striding  on  the  monarch,  in  his  eye 
The  wrath  of  heaven  and  the  hate  of  hell, 

Shrieked,  "Lust!  I  loved  her!  look  on  us  and  die! " 

Swifter  than  fire  clove  him  to  the  brain. 
Kissing  that  head  he  held  fell  with  the  cry — 

Loud  in  the  fury  of  the  stabbing  rain 

A  thousand  weapons  thrust  against  him  slain — 

"Judge,  God  of  Israel,  between  us  twain!" 


ROMAUNT  OF  THE  OAK. 

"1  RIDE  to  death,  for  my  love  is  shame — 
*  The  Lady  Maurine  of  noble  name, 

"Whose  love  is  a  lie!— Though  life  be  long 
Is  love  the  wiser? — Love  made  song 

"Of  all  my  life;  and  the  soul,  that  crept 
Before,  arose  like  a  star  and  leapt : 

"  Still  leaps,  though  it  holds  love  less  than  true, 
Than  noble,  though  pure  as  a  spark  of  dew." 

The  crest  of  his  foeman,  a  heart  of  white 
In  a  bath  of  fire,  burned  the,  night. 

The  stranger  knight  rode  on  and  sung. 

His  lance  in  the  lover  stuck  and  clung.  .  .  . 

(192) 


ROM  AUNT  OF  THE  OAK.  193 

What  woman  is  this  in  the  weary  dawn 
With  the  wild  wood  shadows  standing  wan? 

Who  kneels,  one  hand  on  her  straining  breast, 
One  hand  on  the  dead  man's  bosom  pressed? 

Her  face  as  dim  as  the  dead's ;  as  cold 
As  his  tarnished  armor  of  steel  and  gold? 

She  hales  him  under  the  olden  oak, 
Whose  ruined  trunk  the  wild-vines  choke. 

She  stands  him  stiff,  in  his  foreign  arms, 
In  its  hollow  heart:  "Be  safe  from  storms," 

She  laughs.     And  his  cloven  casque  is  placed 
On  his  brow ;  and  his  riven  shield  is  braced. 

She  sings,  as  she  gathers  the  forest  flowers, 
"The  dead  have  brides,  and  the  dead  are  ours." 

And  stares  and  stares. — When  the  moon  arose 
Laughed,  as  it  grew  a  full-blown  rose, 

"The  wreath  on  my  hair  as  the  moon  is  fresh, 
Eke  the  braid  on  his  brow,  on  his  neck  the  mesh. 


194  ROMA  UNT  OF  THE  OAK. 


"  Ho,  moon,  shalt  shrivel ;  wild  roses  gay, 
Shall  wilt;  my  heart,  shalt  wither  away." 

Where  the  ghostly  paths  with  the  shade  were  dark 
The  wild  roes  stalked,  and  stood  as  stark 

As  phantoms  with  eyes  of  flame,  or  fled — 
Like  silence  pursued— down  the  darkness  dead. 

And  the  night  grew  harsh  with  the  tempest's  cry. 
In  the  oak  with  her  warrior  she  would  lie. 

When  she  heard  his  harness  rattle  and  groan 

As  the  storm  beat  the  oak  and  its  boughs  were  blown, 

She  shrunk  in  sobbing,  "  He  's  calling  me, 
'Come,  shelter  thee  from  the  fiends  dost  see.' 

"  He  knows ;  for  his  eyes  are  balls  of  heat 
Glowing  the  love  of  his  heart's  dead  beat. 

"  Wilt  thou  make  it  warm— this  living  heart 

With  thy  heart  of  dust?— Now  who  shall  part?"  .  .  . 

They  found  her  closed  in  his  armored  arms. — 
Had  he  claimed  his  bride  on  that  night  of  storms? 


